


Ruthless

by jeejaschocolate



Series: Jidaigeki: Historical AUs [2]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Aizen is tied to a chair (again), Alternate Universe - Historical, Bathing/Washing, Battle Scenes, Begging, Bondage, Cameos and background characters, Enemies to Lovers, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, Improper use of traditional items, Kidnapping, M/M, Meiji Era, Politics, Sexual Tension, Shinsengumi - Freeform, Stalking, Violence, Voyeurism, prisoner!Aizen, uke!Aizen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-22 00:12:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 42,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6063460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeejaschocolate/pseuds/jeejaschocolate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Meiji Era, 1870s AU) Aizen and Urahara were members of the elite Shinsengumi murder squad during the revolution. After the war, they went into hiding: Aizen is a police inspector and Urahara is a humble candy shop owner. But memories of the past are difficult to forget, and Aizen is tracking down Urahara…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sakura Blossoms

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, I am very stuck on the historical stuff right now! Ruminated for a while on this, went back and forth, then decided it would be too much fun to pass up. I'm actually really into this pairing, too. But yeah, the subject matter in this one is a bit dark and creepy maybe--hopefully to do justice to the history and the characters!
> 
> **Notes on the Shinsengumi: So the Shinsengumi was an actual special police force of elite assassins hired by the Tokugawa shogunate in the 1860s. Because this story is based off of historical people, I tried to make connections between events that happen in the story and some of the real Shinsengumi members’ lives and personalities. For example, Urahara is based loosely off Nagakura Shinpachi, Aizen from Saito Hajime, and Yoruichi from Okita Souji. That’s where their “fake” names come from, in case you were wondering. The only actual Shinsengumi member I think I’ll put in here is Kondou Isami, because parts of his history are important to the plot. Any more connections or real people show up and I’ll let you know!**
> 
> As always, there are some discrepancies between this and reality! I wrote this mostly with the Bleach characters in mind. So be gentle with me, this is all fan fiction for its own sake—no disrespect to any people (living or dead) is intended!
> 
> Language notes:  
> bokuto - A wooden sword. *Note: During the Meiji Era, it was illegal to carry real swords, so samurai and other people began carrying around bokuto instead.  
> konpeito - traditional Japanese sugar candy. Yachiru eats these in the anime.

Beginning of the Meiji Era - during the 1870s

**Chapter One: Sakura Blossoms**

_A single petal from the sakura tree crossed Aizen’s face. Distracted, he followed its path with his eyes. Tossed around by the wind a bit, the petal came to land in the middle of a fresh pool of blood. The blood came leaking out from someone newly killed. Aizen watched in fascination as the petal absorbed all of the thick, red liquid. The tiny veins in the flower petal were subsumed by the stuff until it seemed as if the petal were alive with pumping human blood—_

_Suddenly, the assassin was jarred from behind._

_“Aizen! The hell?”_

_Calmly, the stoic brunette turned around to meet the frantic eyes of one sandy-haired swordsman he knew quite well._

_An explosion erupted in the near distance, sending a wave of heat and smoke in between them._

_Urahara turned back around to face Aizen. “We need to go, now!”_

_But there were still more to kill._

_Aizen smirked at the other man and began walking instead in the direction of the explosion. A horde of men, already screaming in fear and confusion, came running towards him. Aizen made sure to stab each one, slicing off limbs as casually as if he were rearranging twigs in a flower arrangement — …_

 

“Fujita-sama! Fujita-sama? Are you still with us?”

Aizen blinked rapidly several times. He stared down at the document in his hand, registering the sound of his secretary’s grating voice. Glancing around, he remembered that he was in the inspector’s office sifting through a ream of paperwork. 

Clearing his throat, Aizen readjusted the glasses on his face and smiled down at his secretary. “My apologies, Momo,” he said. “I was just quite in lost thought.”

The young girl looked up at him with worried eyes. “Are you alright, inspector?” She took another step towards him, rather bold today. “You seem…tired…”

Aizen shook his head. “I’m perfectly fine, my dear Momo. Just lacking sleep, I’m afraid. You need not worry.”

“You’ve been working yourself too hard!” Momo’s hair jostled as she shook her head from side to side. “Please, feel free to take a rest and end early today. You’ll get sick if you’re not careful, Fujita-sama!”

Aizen sighed through his nose and considered the suggestion. Actually, that was not a bad idea, all things considered…

He smiled brightly at his secretary. “As always, Hinamori-san, you are quite right. I think I will head home for the day.” 

So, the inspector shuffled his papers into order and stood up from his desk. He stretched languidly in front of Momo, yawning a bit for effect. In truth, Aizen had been working rather late recently. He was somewhat tired, certainly a bit distracted.

But it was all worth it, of course. He had finally found him, after years of not knowing…

Calming a flutter in his heart rate as Aizen considered his accomplishment, the inspector gathered his things. Mom handed him his cloak, helping him on with it dutifully. He bowed formally for her in thanks. Before he left, he turned around once more to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. Mom blushed furiously, naturally, thinking from his display that Aizen could not resist giving her one last kiss goodbye.

“Have a good evening, Hinamori-san,” Aizen whispered. Smirking at her, the inspector thumbed her cheek softly and left.

Outside the police station, in the mid-spring air, Aizen rolled his shoulders thoughtfully. He imagined where he was going and allowed himself a small smile—with the glasses on it should be alright. He tipped his policeman’s cap to passersby for good measure.

“Good evening, Fujita-san!” They greeted him.

Aizen bowed politely and wished them well. 

Fujita Goro. The name that was so foolishly thought up, Aizen almost forgot to answer to it sometimes. Luckily, hearing the name “Fujita” gush from Momo’s mouth on a near constant basis had effectively done the job of beating it into his brain. That was just as well. This Fujita Goro fiction was convenient.

Well, it wasn’t really a fiction, he admitted to himself as he walked casually in the direction of the train station. Fujita Goro was a part of himself, after all. The man who used his powers to protect a cause worth fighting for; these were all things the real Aizen Sosuke would do. The only discrepancies were the nature of the cause and the severity of the fights. 

When Aizen arrived at the station, he approached the ticket booth with all the poise of a well-known figure in the town. 

“Ah,” the ticket saleswoman said, a kind twinkle in her eye. “Inspector Fujita! What brings you here? Not business I hope!”

Aizen laughed politely. “No, ma’am. Fortunately, I’m just buying a ticket to visit my dear sister in Yokohama. A round trip for tomorrow evening would be preferable.” 

The saleswoman nodded and began ringing up the order. “Sharp one, you are,” she said, pulling a paper ticket out from her desk. “Always a better idea to buy your tickets in advance. Never know what might happen on the day of!”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Aizen collected the ticket, paid the money, and went on his way.

The following day he would be taking a trip. To the outskirts of Yokohama. It was all planned. He had arranged with the police chief for some personal time. That crowd admired a man who could balance business and pleasure. In some sense the officers were relieved to grant him the few days paid leave. Proved he was still human, despite the inhuman precision and attention to detail he showed in his day-to-day work. 

As Aizen opened the door to his row house flat, he wondered what he would find in Yokohama. Certainly, the one thing that mattered most to him. His information came from an impeccable source, so there would be no mistakes. Beyond that, what would it be like to see the man again? Only a few years separated them, but a man could change quite a bit in a few years. Aizen himself had become a police inspector for fuck’s sake. Anything was possible.

According to his data, that man was currently working as a candy shop owner. What was that ruse? It wasn’t even interesting, nor believable for someone of that man’s…caliber. He had no idea what Urahara—

No, he needed to be careful not to say the name. Nor even think it. One slip, accidentally saying the name aloud on his way to Yokohama perhaps, and his plans would be laid to ruin. So, he would forget the name Urahara Kisuke for now. Just temporarily.

That man… he thought instead. What would he be like now? How did he spend his days, all the hours of free time he was sure a candy shop owner could claim? Aizen knew firsthand that free time could be the very devil itself.

As the night wore on, Aizen took his dinner in peace. Alone. The darkness had already settled in around him before he remembered to light a candle. He needed to keep up appearances, to pretend for the sake of anyone looking on that he had not taught himself long ago how to see in the darkness…

The following day came and went. Momo and the rest wished him a heartfelt good-bye and safe travels. Before he knew it, Aizen was already sitting on a train. He let himself sink back into the seat and imagine that man.

“I’m coming,” he whispered to himself, picturing sandy hair and dull black eyes. The train burst to life with a roar and started chugging along a brutally slow path to Yokohama. 

“I hope you’re ready for me.”

_______________________________________________________________

“Baldy! Hey, you baldy! Wake…up!” 

Hiyori delivered one swift kick to the side, effectively knocking the wind out of the store owner. Urahara, for his part, was barreled awake from an admittedly rather sickening dream. 

“Ahaha…Hiyori-chan…” Urahara groaned, rubbing his damaged side while reality—the real reality, not the one covered in blood and sakura blossoms he had just been imagining—settled into view. “So good of you to wake me. Tell me, was I asleep long?”

“Hell yeah!” Hiyori stomped her foot and gestured to the unpacked boxes that had just arrived. “Real long! It’s already afternoon, you lug-head. Time to get your ass to work and help me with these boxes.” 

Urahara sat up from his futon, peaking out of his small bedroom adjacent to the candy store. Today—as almost every day at around noon—there were no customers. The customers arrived in the early morning time, children on the way to school, and then later in the afternoon, children on their way home from school. Urahara liked the clock-work aspect of the customer flow. It left plenty of time for him to tend to…other matters.

“Ah, my dear Hiyori,” Urahara said, ambling to his feet and clapping his assistant on the shoulder—much to the girl’s extreme annoyance. “Thank you for being the one to receive the packages. I daresay you are the true face of this sweet shop—at least the one in charge of the very storefront itself. I would not dream of disrupting your carefully detailed system of putting items on display by helping you unpack those boxes…”

“Like hell!!” Hiyori swung her leg into a roundhouse kick straight to Urahara’s backside. The older man’s eyes widened in pain and he staggered forward a little bit. “You’re helping me, baldy! Now get to work!”

Adjusting his striped hat, Urahara sheepishly agreed. So, he set about the task of unpacking and taking out mundane items. Mostly, Hiyori yelled at him where to put things. He let his body slip into automatic as he considered his dream from a few moments ago.

 

_“Kisuke!”_

_Yoruichi’s voice over the sound of a hundred rifles firing mixed with the sound of swords clashing in killing intent._

_“Kisuke! Where are you?”_

_Urahara felled his opponent with one slash across the chest. Letting the man drop unceremoniously, he searched frantically for Yoruichi’s dark shape over the battlefield. Sure enough, the lithe woman was running across the rooftops nearby, her hands poised behind her as she exhibited a cat-like sense of balance._

_“Yoruichi, I’m here!”_

_Hearing her partner’s voice, Yoruichi somersaulted down to speak with him._

_“That was dangerous,” Urahara admonished. “Wasn’t there a safer way…?”_

_“There’s no time!” For once, a look of panic had settled into Yoruichi’s wide eyes. “Kisuke, they set fire to the inn! I think there’s still people inside…”_

_“Shinsengumi?”_

_Yoruichi nodded. “And I think there are explosives somewhere in there, I saw a ninja toting some boxes that looked like—”_

_On cue, a large explosion resonated in the distance. Yoruichi ran towards it, but Urahara held her back._

_“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Anyone in there is already dead. You go on and re-group with the others. I need to find Aizen…”_

_A signal flare went up in the air. It was Kondou, signaling for a retaliation fight. Yoruichi and Urahara looked at each other. Did they even want to follow that order?_

_But they must. They had pledged themselves to this thing —…_

 

A loud scraping sound—all too similar to that of a katana’s blade dragging across the floor—made Urahara flinch. He whipped his head in the direction of the noise, unconsciously reaching for the sword that no longer dangled at his side…

“Damn!” Hiyori grunted. She was pulling hard on the corner of one cardboard box, frustrated that it only moved about an inch. 

Catching the eye of his employee, Urahara’s shoulders sank back into their usual slouch. “Need some help with that?” he asked innocently.

Hiyori’s cheeks turned red. She opened her mouth to retort, but right then the shops bells chimed to indicate a customer. Immensely relieved, Hiyori dashed behind the counter. 

“Welcome to our—oh it’s you.” Hiyori’s face fell in unhappy recognition.

Urahara turned to greet the customer, but instead he was met with a 100-pound dead weight jumping directly onto his back. The shop keeper only barely managed to catch himself on the counter before falling face first.

The dead weight covered Urahara’s eyes with her hands. “Guess who?” she whispered in his ear.

Urahra smiled and gently pulled her hands away from his face. “Yoruichi Shihoin. You’re in good spirits today.”

Yoruichi dropped her fist hard against the top of Urahara’s head. “Idiot!” she called, jumping gracefully down to her feet. “You know better than to use my real name just like that.”

The shop keeper rubbed his sore head and looked back at his friend. “My apologies,” he said brightly. “Your cloak and dagger routine just startled me is all.”

“A little jumpy today?” his female friend asked, perching herself on the counter. Hiyori yelled at the woman in contempt. And futility, naturally.

“You could say that,” Urahara answered. He started walking out the side door into the garden behind the store. “Follow me, I’m sure you came here with something important to tell me.”

“Hey!” Hiyori cried. “Who’s going to help me with all these?”

Urahara laughed and tipped his hat, continuing on his way out the door. His assistant growled in anger as he left, but that could hardly be helped.

Once they were alone, Yoruichi’s face seemed to fall into serious. Urahara made himself look busy by drawing water from the well nearby. In truth, he was very anxious for what his friend had for him.

“He’s sending scouts,” Yoruichi declared. She crossed her arms over her chest defensively. “More everyday. I counted sixteen in Musashi alone yesterday.”

“Sixteen?” Urahara huffed out a laugh and scooped water into the bucket. “What is he, breeding an army?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Yoruichi answered. “They’re calling themselves the Quincy. It’s a German word—apparently a bunch of them were trained overseas. They’ve been back in Japan a few months, with a whole lot of foreign firepower under their belts. I saw…” She took a deep breath, her eyes focused on something far away. “…there was this new kind of gatling gun in their warehouse…Kisuke, I’ve never seen anything like it—”

“Now, now,” Urahara interjected. He pulled the bucket of water out of the well with a thud. “No need to go into detail. I think I have a pretty good idea.”

He had seen the plans himself, of course. Back when he found them on a ship bound for the west. The blueprints were just lying there in plain sight, like they were not detailed instructions on how to build an instrument of death…

“Watch your back, Kisuke.” Yoruichi steadied the water jug with one hand. Urahara followed her hand up until he was looking straight into her eyes. She looked worried—more worried than he had seen her in the past five years.

He gave her a reassuring half-smile. “You know I always do.” 

Yoruichi stepped back forcefully, intentionally letting some water splash in Kisuke’s lap. “Yeah,” she said. “I know how you get by.”

The two shared a meaningful look. They had been watching each other’s backs for so long now, it would be hard for either one of them to imagine life without the other. Urahara figured that Yoruichi probably had the same nightmares he did.

“I’ve been thinking…” he began vaguely. “More like remembering, I guess. About the past. What we did.”

Yoruichi tilted her head to the side. “What about it?”

Urahara sighed, setting the bucket down on the floor next to his feet. He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe this guy, what’s his name…Yhwach?” Damn, it was hard enough to get his mouth around that bizarre foreign name! “Maybe he’s a ghost of retribution, Yoruichi. And we need to atone…”

“You really believe all that?” The woman was smirking now. She looked almost amused.

Urahara sighed. Perhaps he was being foolish. But then…

“Who knows, Yoruichi? Who can say what’s real anymore…”

“I know what’s real.” Yoruichi pushed her friend lightly on the shoulder. “A knife in your back or a bullet in your head. Be careful, alright? Don’t let memories of the past get you confused. We just have to stay alive.”

Urahara nodded. “Right, right…”

With that, Yoruichi waved a solemn goodbye and walked off quietly in the direction of the nearest town. Her visits were always quite jarring, but Urahara was grateful for them at any rate. Four eyes were better than two, and all that. 

As Yoruichi left, something pink caught the shop keeper’s attention out of the corner of his eye. He turned slowly to see sakura blossoms blowing across the garden in huge waves. Their bright pink color had already deadened to pale brown, each petal crinkling at the edges. Urahara hated this time of year; a spring that was too warm then too cold, so all the sakura blossoms died. A waste of natural beauty. And a big mess to clean up. 

Gritting his teeth in frustration, Urahara splashed water over the ground to dispel the gathering sakura petals. They were crushed under the weight of the water and quickly disintegrated.

______________________________________________________________

Aizen stepped off the train at Yokohama station and started walking. He was not sure the exact direction he needed to go to find that man’s shop, but he reasoned that if he asked around enough (“Excuse me, but where can I find the nearest sweet shop?” “I’m sorry, this is a bit embarrassing but you see I have a bit of a sweet tooth…” “It’s not for me, of course, but my niece is a spoiled rotten thing, what can I say?”) he would find it. It only took him a few tries.

The inspector was directed to a path about mile away from the town. There, he was told, he would find the best _konpeito_ in Honshu. So, Aizen walked down the path to the shop. 

Spring insects were buzzing, birds were chirping, Aizen felt his police-issued katana swinging merrily at his side. If he were being honest, the best part of being a police officer was being able to carry a real sword—not the toy _bokuto_ mandated by the Meiji government. His police inspector’s sword, though it was not his trusted sword that carried him through the war, seemed to resonate with his soul enough to respond easily to his moods. On a beautiful, promising day like today, his sword was positively humming. 

It did not surprise him that his old acquaintance had chosen such a secluded place. Less traffic of faces, less probability you would run into someone who knew you. (Aizen had averted that problem by simply changing his face. Put on a pair of glasses and a gentle smile, dress up in some policeman’s costume, it was all rather easy.)

It was already almost evening by the time Aizen arrived. He was only here to canvas the place. And it seemed fortuitous: The shop stood completely alone on the road, more than half a block away from the next low-populated store. This neighborhood would not be a problem. 

Directly across from the shop, there stood a tall shinto shrine—in memorial of the neighborhood _kami_ that were said to be a boon for travelers. Aizen had no intention of praying, but the shrine was big enough to provide cover, so he hid behind it and watched. Also convenient.

After about thirty minutes, just as the sun was setting, a young blonde-haired girl with pigtails burst out of the shop. She muttered goodbye to someone still inside. For a moment, Aizen wondered if this girl could be that man’s daughter…? 

But no, there was no way. She looked to be at least a teenager. They had not been out of the Shinsengumi that long.

More time passed and Aizen saw the lights in the store shutting off for the night. He caught a glimpse of him—that man, walking around to lock the front door. From behind the shrine, Aizen could not hold back a smile. His glasses flashed in the darkness as he took in the sight of his old acquaintance. 

Urahara Kisuke had aged. That was for sure. He looked more hunched now, his eyes more sunken in their sockets. Overall he was more unkempt, far from clean-shaven. And that man had never been one for cleanliness. Perhaps his lifestyle had caught up with him these past few years, or perhaps time spent living below your means just did that to a man. 

Regardless, Aizen became gleeful upon seeing his old enemy. Real, in front of his face, for the first time since…! And the man showed no signs of having sensed Aizen. These years selling candy made him go soft, it seemed.

Feeling bold, Aizen walked up to the closed storefront. That man had taken care to board everything tightly. On silent feet, under cover of darkness, Aizen crept around the side of the store, gauging the size of this man’s new living arrangements. Not very big. The inspector reasoned that inside must not be very spacious, either. But he had a decently sized backyard connected to a storehouse around back. The storehouse was mostly open, but that man had thrown a padlock around the door for safe keeping.

Aizen could not hold back a chuckle. Safe? As if such a thing could keep a man from the Shinsengumi safe—from without or within.

The inspector snuck close to the warehouse, wondering if there was a way he could perhaps see inside, through a crack in the door maybe…

Luck was on his side, it seemed. About four feet from the ground was a small window, meant for decoration perhaps or a bit of sunlight. If Aizen crouched and held his body against the side of the house, he could peer inside.

Light streamed from the window. A passing shadow told Aizen there was definitely a person moving around in the storehouse.

So, Aizen turned his face slowly toward the window to have a look for himself. He had been prepared to see deeds of many kinds; perhaps that man running some kind of experiment as he was wont to do. Or maybe he had kidnapped a local townsperson for his own amusement. But the sight did greet him was…unexpected.

Urahara Kisuke had taken off his outer kimono and under shirt. He left his _hakama_ pants on though, leaving him naked to the waist. Furthermore, that man was doing nothing scientific. He walked back and forth from a table on the far side of the room sporting a meager meal of sake and fish. On the other side of the room was a small bath connected to a tiny adjacent washroom. 

Right away, Aizen was disgusted that this man bathed so close to where he ate. He knew the storehouse had almost no room, but still…to watch Urahara take a bite of food and then cross the room to the bathtub, swishing his hand around the clear water to test the temperature…it was unsightly.

And yet…

In truth, Aizen lost track of his own thoughts the moment he laid eyes on Urahara. So bared, this man was now almost too real. His pale body, though slightly pasty, had lost none of its hard muscle tone. Clearly this man had bothered to keep in shape. Even if he did chew his dinner with his mouth open when he thought no one was looking…

A thrill of power ran through the inspector. Here was his long time enemy—the man he hated perhaps most in the world—going about his mundane business without any knowledge that Aizen was watching him. Smirking, Aizen realized he could let his eyes linger wherever they wanted… 

He trailed his eyes all over Urahara’s unsuspecting form. The curve of the man’s shoulder muscles to the inward dip of his hips. Urahara had his back to the window now, pouring himself another glass of sake. Aizen could make out every fine detail in the muscles on this man’s back. As Urahara turned the cup upward to his mouth, Aizen watched as the corresponding muscles in his arms and back shifted to allow the movement. Turning slightly to the side, Aizen could see the man’s throat working to swallow the liquid. 

The nascent omniscience of his situation started to make Aizen hard. It had been so long since he had seen another man with this kind of musculature—and Aizen knew well the power hidden in those limbs. To be able to observe without needing an excuse, without even being seen…

The inspector’s pulse quickened and he bent forward perhaps a little too far…he was growing bolder as his erection began to fill out…

“Ah…” Urahara sighed, stretching up above his head. He had finished his fish, leaving only the bones, and now turned his attention towards the bath. He walked over to the edge of the tub, hooking his thumbs around the waist of his pants. Aizen’s eyes unintentionally grew wider as he prepared to watch Kisuke take off his pants…

In some corner of the inspector’s mind, he knew he was getting off on this. Still, he had no qualms with that. He had always been aroused by power, ever since he was a boy. And what was power if not omniscient watching—seeing without being detected? Besides, Urahara’s body was truly a work of art…from a fellow warrior’s perspective…

For a moment, the shop keeper stilled. His hands were poised at his hips. Aizen felt his eye twitching in anticipation, wanting to see all of this man so that there was nothing left for him to hide. If he saw Urahara naked, then he would already have seen all there was to see. That would give him the upper hand, surely, in their inevitable fight. 

A loud thunk reverberated across the side of the house where Aizen was pressed. He jumped back in response, only slightly, out of pure instinct. 

Blinking hard, Aizen tried to think what could have made the sound—like something hard hitting the wall from the inside. Perhaps someone knocking? Aizen peered around the back, and yet he saw nothing. Such an ominous sound. What could it have been?

When he turned back towards the window, Urahara had vanished. Aizen turned his head side to side, trying to see which corner of the room his enemy had slunk off to. But there was no sign of him! Aizen pressed himself up against the window—perhaps too rash, but he was angry and confused, he had not even heard a door or a window open!

It was as if Urahara had vanished.

A burning jab of anger tried to snake its way to the surface. Well trained on maintaining his own rage, Aizen took a deep breath and forced it down. He would just have to go around the front, maybe Urahara had decided to go into the store for something—

In the next breath, Aizen felt something sharp and wet cut into his side. Registering a wound, he looked down to see the handle of a knife sticking out of him—connected to one pale, pasty hand….

Aizen followed the hand until he was staring face to face with Urahara.

“Hey, Aizen.” 

The other man’s face was unreadable—completely impassive. Aizen wanted to scream in frustration and disbelief, but his throat felt stuck. His eyes and mouth gaped open wide as he tried to get a clearer view of Urahara, to say something in return. But his vision rapidly darkened…his feet crumbled underneath him…what…had that man…?

In seconds, Aizen fell completely unconscious. He landed in a heap at Urahara’s feet. 

The shop keeper let out a sigh into the night. He could not say he was entirely surprised Aizen had tracked him here, but still…could the guy have been anymore obvious about it? And what was with the police uniform? 

Shaking his head, Urahara crouched down to pull the knife out of Aizen’s side. He had laced the blade with a slow acting poison, a mild paralytic and anesthetic. Aizen would be conscious again probably in two to three hours. It would take him about another day to regain full use of his limbs. Such it was.

The shop keeper stared down at the man who was once his companion, now a total stranger sneaking around the woods near his house at night. He had no idea what Aizen wanted from him; in fact he had no desire to deal with this rather irritating man at all, presently. But here they were. Urahara had his fair share of questions. He would have to wait until Aizen was conscious though. 

Now, what was Urahara going to do with him until then? 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hopefully you like the set up of this one.


	2. Bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Urahara has successfully kidnapped Aizen. Now he has to figure out what he's supposed to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this. I am very much enjoying writing this--as sick as it probably is. I tried to make the characters as true to their Bleach personas as possible. But remember, Aizen is not a god in this (he's not Butterflaizen, the guy fused to the hogyoku). He's just a regular dude. So this is Aizen in his purest state, in a way.
> 
> Language notes:  
> bakufu - Japanese word for the shogunate  
> hatamoto - a samurai in the direct service of the Tokugawa shogunate, allowed to speak to the shogun directly. All the members of the Shinsengumi were hatamoto.  
> fukuchou jokin- assistant to the vice commander, a title in the Shinsengumi. Saito Hajime (Aizen) held this position when he first joined. The characters for this are: 副長助勤.  
> kumicho - Troop commander. Nagakura Shinpachi (Urahara) was this during the first round of the Shinsengumi. Eventually all the characters in this were kumicho. The characters are: 組長.

**Chapter Two: Bound**

Urahara had successfully dragged Aizen inside his storehouse. The man was surprisingly heavy, which Urahara found more than a little irritating. He was tempted to just tie Aizen up to the side of his house and be done with it. But that would have been too risky what with the flow of people coming to his shop from time to time. So the guy would have to remain inside. 

After laying him in the middle of the floor, Urahara dragged over a spare chair from one of the backrooms. He had bought the thing on a whim; it was a western wooden chair with a sturdy make he got from some peddler. Honestly, Urahara had bought it just to keep around and because he wanted to study its design. Hiyori laughed at him at the time. Now it seemed Urahara had been right all along—the chair did come in handy. Well, that just showed he had a good eye for foreign knickknacks! 

The shop keeper reasoned that he would need to keep Aizen detained in his shop at least until he woke up. After that, he could try and discern some of his former comrade’s motives, maybe they were innocent. But probably not. Knowing Aizen and his predilection for sadism, especially when it came to Urahara (which Kisuke himself had no explanation for), he figured that Aizen was most likely there to kill him.

In which case, he would have to keep Aizen detained…indefinitely. The man was a danger to him and certainly to others. And to his own self, at that, if he thought it was a good idea to go sneaking around people’s houses in these duplicitous times. So the shop keeper needed to bind Aizen securely and make sure he stayed that way. For as long as necessary.

What a pain. This was really the last thing he needed right now. 

Groaning internally, Urahara heaved Aizen into a sitting position on the chair. He began the arduous process of wrapping ropes around the other man’s arms and legs, fastening each wrist to each arm rest and each leg to each leg of the chair. He knew from past experience how strong Aizen was physically, so he wrapped them several times over, in a criss-cross pattern and as tightly as he could. After that, he bound Aizen’s shoulders and waist to the back of the chair. These were mostly unnecessarily, but he wanted to keep Aizen as immobile as possible. The man was slippery, Urahara knew that much.

Once he was finished, he took a step back and admired his work. Aizen’s head slumped forward onto his chest, still unconscious. His hair—neatly combed back as it usually was—had dislodged and one long strand of bangs laid down the middle of his face. Urahara smirked, remembering that look from their time in the Shinsengumi…

He took a step back to look harder and his foot crunched against something on the floor. Curiously, Urahara reached down, picking up a destroyed pair of glasses. He pondered them for a moment before remembering that Aizen had been wearing glasses when he stabbed him. The glass had shattered under his foot, twisting the frames in odd directions. They were unusable now. Urahara was surprised that his comrade-turned-enemy actually needed glasses, until he looked closer and saw the lenses were merely window glass. 

Ah, a ruse. That was very much like Aizen. Shaking his head, Urahara disposed of the glasses in the incinerator around the side of his house. He covered up the trail in the dirt Aizen’s feet and legs had made when he dragged him—no need for any evidence of what happened. 

As for the discarded police officer’s katana, Urahara took it and placed it on his kitchen table. He was shocked the thing was real—what was Aizen, an actual police inspector? Had to be if he was carrying this around town.

Just as the sun began to rise, Urahara took stock of his storehouse and shop. Everything looked normal—like there wasn’t a poisoned man bound to a chair in the back of his house. It was inconvenient that the storehouse connected to his bedroom and the storefront itself, but that could not be helped. He had no other place to detain Aizen.

Detain. Good word for it. The shop keeper scratched his cheek as he stared at the bound man in his warehouse. Well, the man had come to kill him, after all! This could have been avoided if Aizen had any brains. 

Just then, Aizen’s head rolled to one side. He groaned in his unconscious state. Urahara realized that the poison must have been starting to wear off. He thought about wrapping another rope around Aizen’s mouth to keep him quiet, but…that might have been too extreme right away. He had questions to ask him after all.

The shop keeper stifled a yawn, finally registering his own tiredness. Thank goodness this next day was the one day of the week the shop was closed for business. He would deal with keeping this whole mess from Hiyori when the time came. Right now he just wanted to go to sleep. 

Crawling onto his futon, Urahara fell asleep face first. He wanted to block out all the annoying, stupid inconveniences of the present for a few hours. Hopefully there were no more gut-wrenching memories waiting for him in his sleep. 

_____________________________________________

Aizen felt like he was swimming in deep water. In his mind, he saw himself surrounded by the thick, unyielding water of the ocean. Or perhaps…something even thicker. Every so often he would twitch, as if to reach the surface and get air, but then his limbs would refuse to work. So the tide pulled him down again. 

Fear threatened to snake its way into his heart. But Aizen had conquered fear a long time ago. 

So, the man taught himself how to breathe under water. If he slowed his lungs, letting his unruly limbs do as they pleased, it was actually not that hard. The water, though oppressive and irritating, actually became somewhat peaceful. 

Then the water started changing temperature. It grew ice cold, making him seize up automatically. From time to time, the cold would dissipate and allow him to relax. Just as he let his guard down, the cold would come back fiercer than before. Each time his body seized painfully, buoying him up to surface by force until—

Aizen took a huge, gasping breath and opened his eyes. Panting, his vision settled and he felt not water, but instead chilly air. There was darkness, like that of the afternoon sun just beginning to turn into night. He blinked a few times. This was reality.

He did not recognize his surroundings. There was a large stack of boxes in the corner with unknown contents, a small washroom with a tub full of standing murky water, a kitchen table on which rested a tea kettle, some foreign bread, and a katana—

His katana.

Aizen tried to move his arms and reach out to his katana, but his muscles felt slow. Beyond that, there was something heavy holding him down… Slowly, Aizen turned his neck downward to regard his hands. Even the muscles in his neck responded like lead…why were his muscles so unruly? In his confusion, he thought he might be recovering from almost drowning…

Then Aizen saw the ropes at his wrists. Both wrists. His legs were in the same state, and there were heavy bonds against his stomach and chest as well. On instinct Aizen pulled against the ropes, but his force was very weak. He tried again, harder—this time a lurching nausea rose in his stomach. He thought for a minute he might vomit. So, Aizen settled all his muscles and focused hard on breathing, just trying to steady himself. He could not afford to throw up here in this predicament…

“Don’t try to move around so much. You’ll make yourself sick.”

Aizen rolled his eyes upward in the direction of the voice. He recognized it. There was no way he wouldn’t. Ignoring the advice, he tilted his head to the side, too weak to move the whole neck but wanting to get a better view.

Sure enough, Urahara Kisuke sat against a wall directly opposite from him. The man was sitting cross-legged, smoking a pipe and staring at him curiously. 

Aizen growled, realizing what had happened to him. That man had stabbed him, drugged him— He rolled his eyes down to his side. The wound was bandaged and treated. Most likely by Urahara himself.

The man who had done all this to him and then bound him to a chair. How…in character. 

Hatred bubbled to the surface as Aizen looked back at Urahara. The man blew out some smoke and stared right back. Aizen grit his teeth and growled harder, attempting to say something now—but his mouth was not quite working either.

Urahara shook his head. “Don’t try to talk yet. It’ll probably take some time for your muscles to work. I gotta say,” Urahara ambled to his feet. “I didn’t think that poison I gave you would last this long. You’ve been unconscious for almost a full day—I thought it only lasted a few hours. So, can’t say when your limbs will be back to normal again.” He smirked. “Guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

So Urahara had inflicted him with some unknown poison. That was the cause of his current sickening condition. Aizen breathed out a long sigh. This was also quite in character for this man.

How Aizen hated him. So thoroughly and completely. 

Feeling like he needed to swallow, Aizen worked his throat into compliance and swallowed what was in his mouth. His saliva tasted sour and unpleasant, almost like bile. Probably another side effect of the poison. He longed instinctually for water to wash the taste away.

Urahara walked slowly over to the kitchen table. He picked up Aizen’s katana and moved it a quarter of an inch over. Aizen’s whole body seized in annoyance as that man touched his weapon. He knew Urahara did it intentionally, just to bother him. Then the shop keeper took a pitcher of water and poured himself a full cup. 

Taking the cup, Urahara walked over to Aizen. He approached the bound man enough to be able to reach out and touch him. Aizen cringed internally, despising his unresponsive muscles. Yet, he knew by now, if the body did not work he would have to use other means…

Urahara held the cup close to his face. “Care for a drink?” he asked. 

Aizen smirked. He gathered his energy for a moment and then thrust his head against Urahara’s hand in disgust. As a result, the liquid spilled onto his lap and the floor. 

The shop keeper took his hand away. “Suit yourself,” he answered. With that, he walked back over to the table and poured himself another glass. Taking all the time in the world, Urahara sat back down against the wall and looked Aizen in the eye. Holding the man’s eye contact, he tilted the cup back and drank slowly, gulping all of it down in one go.

Aizen met his gaze with a calm smile. He did not want to appear affected by that at all. But internally, Aizen was imagining running a blade across Urahara’s throat and letting the man bleed out in front of him…

Smacking his lips in enjoyment, Urahara set down the cup. For several moments, they just stared at each other. The light of the day drained slowly into darkness. They continued to stare, both more than accustomed to a lack of light.

Finally, Urahara stood up and started lighting candles. Whatever unearthly tension had arisen between them, the shop keeper cleared his throat and spoke normally.

“You should get more rest,” he said. “Believe me, I have plenty of questions for you. But none of that will come until you can talk again. So hurry up and get this poison out of your system.” 

Aizen lifted the corner of his mouth in something that was half a sneer and half a smile.

“Attractive,” Urahara answered. “But I’d like to have an actual conversation if we can. So rest up.” 

With that, Urahara walked into his adjacent bedroom and snapped the door closed. Aizen had nothing else to do but take his advice and rest. So he relaxed his numb, weak muscles and fell asleep.

By the time he woke up again—choking on bile this time—the room was much darker. Urahara had only one candle lit and he sat at his kitchen table sipping sake. The man’s pipe was lit again and it flashed in the darkness, illuminating a small section of Urahara’s face. 

Aizen’s sputtering coughing died down slowly. He spit whatever was in his mouth onto the floor. Sighing, the man closed his eyes against another wave of nausea. This time it died down and did not return. Out of curiosity, he tested his muscles again. They were a little more responsive. Experimentally, he rolled his jaw, sparking the nerves to life. He felt tingling as blood and sensation returned to his mouth.

Slowly, Aizen moved his lips back and forth to bring back feeling. The only thing still not working was his tongue. It felt glued to the roof of his mouth. In the darkness, he heard Urahara get to his feet and walk somewhere behind Aizen’s chair. He could not turn his head to look at what the man was doing, but he heard clattering. 

Eventually, Urahara sat back down at his kitchen table. “Feeling up to talking?” he asked.

Aizen’s tongue clicked as he unstuck the weak muscle. “…Try me…” he managed.

The shop keeper chuckled. “Alright, I will.” Then he went to sit against the wall so they could face each other. 

Now able to move his head fully, Aizen straightened his neck and shoulders, regarding Urahara with a calm smile. 

“Aizen,” Urahara began, his black eyes looking almost dead in the darkness. “What the hell were you doing?”

The bound inspector smirked. “…You…don’t know?” 

The shop keeper sighed. “I’ll admit, Aizen, I really have no fucking idea what you were doing creeping around my house in the middle of the night. Out of nowhere, after five years.” He paused to take a drag. “And if you remember, we did not part on the friendliest of terms.” 

Aizen laughed lightly through his nose. “You know…” 

They sat in silence again for a few heartbeats. 

“So,” Urahara began. “That’s it? You just came to kill me?” 

“Naturally,” Aizen responded.

Urahara took a long drag, killing the rest of the tobacco in his pipe. “Yeah,” he said. “I figured as much. Still, have to say I’m a little disappointed.” He fixed his eyes on Aizen coldly. “For a guy with such a simple goal, you really couldn’t accomplish much. You couldn’t even canvas my house without getting your ass caught.” 

Hot burning rage rushed through Aizen’s tied limbs. Inside he saw red, imagining a river of blood flowing from all the victims he had killed through the ages…a frequent thing he thought of to calm himself. On the outside, he smiled all the sweeter.

“When…” Aizen mumbled, beginning to speak a bit clearer now. “…did you realize?”

“When did I realize you were out there?” Urahara took the knife out from the inside of his kimono and held it. “Ever since you passed by the storefront. I knew you were hiding behind the shrine out there. I would have known even if I didn’t see the marks of your feet against the grass. I know what it feels like when you’re watching me, Aizen. Wouldn’t forget that.” 

He turned the blade over a few times in his hand. “Which is why it’s even more ridiculous that you stood there watching me from the window. What, were you getting off on seeing me get ready to take a bath?”

Aizen blinked slowly. He wanted to laugh that Urahara thought he was making a joke, when in actuality…but that would have given him away. 

Urahara laughed ruefully and thumbed his blade. “I don’t know what the hell you think killing me will accomplish, Aizen, but I’m sure you realize by now: That’s not going to happen.” He flicked his blade menacingly against his own hand. “I’ve spent the last few years making sure I stayed alive after all those Meiji government bulldogs came to kill me. I’ve done a pretty good job. Not going to let you ruin all that just because you’ve got some kind of hard-on for me.”

Aizen allowed himself to laugh a bit at that.

“Go ahead and laugh,” Urahara said as he stood up. “But you’re going to be spending a lot of time in that chair. Hope you like the view.” 

Saying nothing else, Urahara blew out the candle on the table and walked straight into his bedroom. Aizen sat alone in the darkness, trying to figure out how fucked he was and how easily he could escape. There had to be some way, he would find it for sure, in time…

…The next day, Aizen woke up to the sound of scraping beyond the storehouse. Urahara had thrown a sheet over the window so that no one could see outside or in, but Aizen saw a small shadow against the sheet. Someone was walking around outside, scraping something against the ground.

“Hey, you baldy,” Hiyori cried. “Why did you make me do all the raking?” 

“Because!” Urahara cried back. He seemed to be outside in the backyard as well. “We can’t let your wonderful raking talent go to waste!”

Hiyori, whom Aizen realized was the blonde girl from yesterday, began to bicker back and forth with Urahara. Aizen’s pulse quickened as he saw an opportunity. He opened his mouth to cry out and get the girl’s attention—when he was met with the foul taste of a dirty cloth.

It seemed Urahara had gagged him with a towel before leaving him alone. Frustrated, Aizen gathered all his strength (there was more of it than yesterday and the day before) and tried to move the chair against the floor to make some sound. He managed to thump the back legs of the chair slightly, leaning his weight against his bound feet. Smirking, Aizen hit the legs of the chair against the floor repeatedly.

“Do you hear something, Urahara?” the girl asked.

“Nope!” Urahara walked back over to her side. “Just the sound of you not raking! Here let me show you…” With that, he began scraping the rake hard against the ground to create more grating noise.

To his irritation, Urahara dismissed the girl from the yard that day. Before she left, Aizen began thumping the legs of his chair loudly, using as much strength as he could to make some sound to alert her. So forcefully, in fact, that the chair tipped backwards slightly and toppled over onto its side. Aizen hit the ground hard. 

Hiyori went home without a word. 

Infuriating.

But, Aizen realized, as he laid his tired head against the floor, the hard fall had jarred his nerves back to life a little. …Only for them to be crushed against the awkward position of his body. 

About an hour later, Urahara walked back into the storehouse. Aizen closed his eyes from his undignified position on the floor. The shop keeper took his time silently making dinner and going about the business of setting his table.

Only after the shop keeper finished eating his meal did he began speaking. “You know, I should just leave you there.” 

Aizen did not respond.

Urahara stood up and walked behind Aizen’s chair. The inspector could feel the man looking down at him, he felt covered in his shadow. The humiliation and anger from this felt like an actual, physical burning of Aizen’s flesh.

“But,” Urahara continued. “You’ll catch cold if you stay on the floor too long. So…”

He placed his hands on the back of Aizen’s chair, next to the man’s head, and lifted him. With some struggling, he righted the chair back onto its legs. Aizen felt the blood in his body even out after being cramped on the floor for so long. He stretched his fingers and calves, the only parts of him free from the bonds. 

Urahara walked around the front of the chair to face him. The shop keeper was chewing a toothpick left over from his meal. He rubbed the dirty hair under his striped hat for a minute in thought. All Aizen could do was glare back at him; his brown, furious eyes as sharp as any blade.

Urahara rolled the toothpick to the other side of his mouth. He reached out and undid the gag around Aizen’s face. As he pulled the towel away, a string of thick saliva from Aizen’s lips followed it. Now, the inspector’s mouth was dryer than he could ever remember. 

This man, thought Aizen. He was going to kill this man. There was no question of that now…

“Anything to add?” Urahara asked.

Aizen began moving his lips as if he were trying to say something.

“What’s that?” Urahara leaned forward to try and hear what Aizen was saying.

When he was in range, Aizen smiled. He gathered all the spit left in his mouth and tried to spit in Urahara’s face. There was not enough liquid there to do much damage, but he landed his strike nonetheless.

“Ah,” Urahara replied. He pulled back slowly and wiped the spit from his face. “Good thought.”

The shop keeper walked to his bedroom. Before he slammed the door shut for the night, the sandy-haired man felt a pull of guilt. He glanced back at Aizen, bound against the chair. That man, as repulsive as he was, had not eaten or drunk in days now. He must be dying of thirst…

Urahara fought with himself. _He’s trying to kill you_ , the man reasoned. _He’ll kill you the second he gains an inch of leverage!_ But… _For all of Aizen’s nonsense, he’s still a human. He needs food and water or else he’ll die…and then you’ll be carrying his corpse out of here just like that…_

Gritting is teeth in extreme annoyance, Urahara walked back to his kitchen table. He picked poured some fresh water into a cup and stomped over to Aizen. He was honestly angry at everything (angry at himself, angry at Aizen for fucking with his life, angry at the whole damn world for letting things end up like this). 

He pressed the cup against Aizen’s lips. “Drink,” he demanded.

Aizen felt the water against his parched lips. Every nerve in his body demanded that he drink, but his platinum-solid pride forced him to keep his lips closed. Then he considered, if he did not drink he would not have the strength to continue working against Urahara. He needed strength, he needed to recover.

So Aizen opened his mouth and drank as Urahara poured water into his mouth. The second the liquid touched his tongue, Aizen started gulping it down on instinct. He gulped too quickly and a thin line of water ran down his chin. That was inconsequential, he thought, panting and licking his lips. Doubly angry now, Urahara sighed and wiped the water away from Aizen’s chin with his hand.

Aizen felt Urahara’s touch against his skin like a slap or a puncture wound. He froze. Looking up at the shop keeper he saw…was that…did the man seem torn about something?

“I’d give you more water,” Urahara said, dropping his arm. “But then you’ll need to…you know…”

Oh.

…Perhaps Aizen was going about this the wrong way.

“Kisuke…” the inspector whispered. His features slid into smoothness. He looked fresh and enticing, like he had not spent half his day on the floor and all of his door bound to a chair. Hooding his eyes seductively, Aizen continued, “…Kisuke, you don’t really want to keep me tied up like this, do you? You were my senpai back in the Shinsengumi. Remember? I was _fukuchou jokin_ and you were _kumicho._ We knew each other well. You’re not that kind of man.”

Black, rock-like eyes fell onto Aizen. For a moment, Urahara’s heart beat faster. He had forgotten that look of Aizen’s, the one he used when he wanted to get his way. Aizen could make himself look appealing to anyone—even the most uninterested of women and the most staunchly heterosexual of men. That gaze…Urahara had seen it before, but he had forgotten how effective it was.

Yet, disappointing.

Urahara looked down. “You don’t really know anything about the kind of man I am, Sosuke—as long as we’re on a first name basis.” 

He patted Aizen’s bound shoulder and walked into his bedroom. Safely alone, Urahara realized he would need to tread cautiously around Aizen. Even more cautiously than he thought. This might even end up being rather challenging…

He slapped the side of his wall in annoyance. Why this? Why now?

__________________________________________________________

The following day, Aizen woke up in the morning. His body was starting to adjust to its regular rhythms, he realized. Testing his strength, Aizen pulled against the ropes with all his might. Most of his muscle’s abilities had returned…but those damn ropes held fast. Aizen could see the patterns his enemy had used to bind him. It was extremely unlikely he would be able to break free with pure strength.

So, he needed to find another way.

Thinking, Aizen considered who Urahara was for a moment. Back when they were in the Shinsengumi, Urahara had been friendly with almost everyone. He was likable—very close to Shihoin—and people deferred to his opinion on serious matters.

Aizen had always found that irritating. Or…had he? In some ways, Aizen had respected Kisuke back then. He thought of the man as the only one of the squad who might be his equal. Everyone else was inconsequential. But Kisuke…that man had always been interesting. Clever, with an eye for modern ways of thinking, and brilliant at fighting…

But Urahara’s downfall? His weak will. Urahara often chose the path of least resistance. He joined the Shinsengumi out of necessity after Kondou asked him to, telling him it was for the good of the _bakufu._ Despite everything, Urahara still felt obligated to the shogunate. (Aizen himself had joined the Shinsengumi by proxy after he killed a _hatamoto_ in front of his men.) Still, Aizen thought that Urahara’s loyalty to the _bakufu_ was more of a loyalty to the people of Japan. Therein lay his weakness. 

Urahara had sensibilities. And sensibilities could be exploited.

The man in question crawled out of his bedroom groggily. His kimono was undone, exposing all of his pale torso beneath, and his striped hat was missing. It looked like he had not gotten much sleep.

Aizen smirked and looked up at his captor with fake worry in his eyes. “What’s the matter, Kisuke? Didn’t you sleep well?”

“Save it, Aizen,” the man grumbled, pouring tea with a shaky hand. “I’m in no mood.”

“Sleep is important, my dear Kisuke,” Aizen continued heedlessly. “You will make yourself sick if you don’t get enough rest.” He took a deep breath calmly, as if he were just casually taking in the fresh morning air. “And I’m sure you know, if you don’t have your health, you have nothing.”

Urahara crumpled down to his kitchen table. He rubbed his sleep-deprived eyes and considered his options.

“I could always gag you again, you know,” the shop keeper threw out.

“Certainly,” Aizen replied. “But then you would miss the pleasure of my conversation.” 

The sandy-haired man gulped down some tea, irritated that it was not helping his weariness. “What’s so pleasant about it?”

“Well, aren’t you the least bit interested in what I’ve been doing these past five years?” Aizen flipped his strand of bangs over to the side of his face.

Urahara brewed another pot of tea. “I think I get the picture.” He sighed and continued. “After leaving the Shinsengumi on that fateful night, you went into hiding for about a year. After which time, you emerged under a new alias as a kenjutsu instructor. The burgeoning police officer’s alliance spotted you and quickly offered you a job. You took it because it has the perks of carrying around a katana, bossing around subordinates, and getting to beat people up.” 

He poured a steaming cup of tea. Sipping it hesitantly, he looked over at a dumfounded Aizen and said, “Is that more or less the story?”

Aizen closed his eyes in a dignified way. “Yes. Except, I never went into hiding. I did not need to. I assumed my new identity as easily as day turns into night.”

“Now that I do believe.” Urahara took another cup and poured some more tea. He offered it to Aizen. “Can I interest you in some tea?”

“Yes, thank you.” 

So Urahara took the cup and walked over to Aizen’s chair. He held the cup to the man’s lips. This time, Aizen demurely wrapped his lips around the rim and started drinking. Before he could finish, Urahara pulled the cup away abruptly.

“Think that’s about enough,” he mumbled, shuffling back to his seat. He had done that as an experiment, to test what it felt like to be around Aizen. The feeling was…unpleasant. Aizen had an aura about him that was difficult to ignore.

“Whatever you say, Urahara-sama,” Aizen replied, smirking and licking his lips. 

God damn this man, Urahara thought. As cool as a cucumber even though he was going to be indefinitely tied to that stupid chair. The shop keeper blinked rapidly to dislodge his own irritation. 

He was tired of playing with Aizen. But games were part of that man’s psyche. So, if games were inevitable (and they were, of course) then Urahara would need to play along. 

“Still, I’m curious, Sosuke,” Urahara asked, spooning out some rice for his breakfast. “What name did you choose for yourself when you assumed this new identity? Just so I know what they call you."

“My name?” Aizen asked, tilting his head to the side. “I have had many names. So many that sometimes I forget they were ever a part of my identity.”

“The most recent one, then?”

“My most recent name was Fujita Goro. The police inspector.”

Urahara nodded. “Goro, huh?” He squinted in Aizen’s direction. “Yeah, you don’t look like a Goro.” 

“And what is your new name? So that I may know what to call you as well.” Aizen’s face was impassable again.

Urahara sighed. He hated this name, but he had fallen into it immediately after the war. “Sugimura Yoshie,” he announced. “At your service.”

“Sugimura?” Aizen thought for a moment. “I believe I recognize that name. A family of doctors, correct?”

“That’s right.” Urahara stuffed rice into his mouth, wishing not to speak.

Aizen chuckled. “What are you, a doctor’s apprentice now, Kisuke?”

“Nope,” Urahara swallowed. He held another bowl in his hand and wondered if he should offer some to Aizen. “Just a humble shop keeper.” 

“Ah, yes,” Aizen smelled the food Urahara was eating and his skin began to tingle in want. Now that he realized, he had not eaten in almost four days… “A humble shop keeper who keeps paralytic poison around the house for day to day business.”

“Not day to day…” Urahara mumbled. 

At that moment, Aizen’s stomach decided to make itself known. It grumbled loudly, reverberating the inspector’s whole form. He grit his teeth, cursing his stomach for its blatant betrayal. But yes, no denying that he was almost painfully hungry at this point…

Urahara heard the telltale sound. He looked slowly over to Aizen. The prideful man was not looking at him. At that, the shop keeper relaxed a little. He knew that no matter what Aizen tried to pull, he himself would always have the upper hand here because he was the captor. 

“Hungry?” Urahara asked, heaping rice into a bowl and walking over to his captive.

“…..” Aizen said nothing. Yet, smelling the freshly cooked rice so close, his stomach growled pitifully once more.

Urahara chucked. “Yeah, it sounds like you’re hungry. Come on, open wide…” The shop keeper piled some rice onto his flat rice-stirring spoon. He held it out to Aizen’s mouth. 

Once more, the inspector fought with himself. He stomach burned angrily, wanting to each out and ingest the food greedily, but his pride…would he let this man actually feed him? 

Another hunger pang wracked Aizen’s torso. Well, it seemed he had no choice.

So, Aizen opened his lips and let Urahara scoop some rice into his mouth. The fresh, warm taste was heavenly—even though it was obviously just regular rice. Aizen forced himself to chew and swallow it slowly, but it took quite a bit of willpower. 

One day… Aizen thought as Urahara continued to feed him… one day he would evolve his body beyond the need for trivial things. One day he would not need to eat or drink and reduce himself to another man’s mercy. If anyone could do it, Aizen thought, he certainly could.

But that was not today. In the waking world, today he needed food. 

When Aizen had eaten everything in the bowl, Urahara regarded his prisoner again. Some rice grains had fallen from the awkward angle and stuck to Aizen’s chin. Urahara’s skin prickled at what he would need to do (could he just leave him like that? He could. It would help make Aizen look ridiculous, but…). He wiped Aizen’s face with the corner of his kimono sleeve.

Finished, he took a moment to look into Aizen’s eyes. He wanted to wade through the bullshit of that man’s facade and see what he actually felt. If it could be done, that is…

But Aizen just looked up at him and smiled. “How kind of you, Kisuke.” 

Urahara wanted nothing more than to wipe that smug smile off his face. Losing control of himself for a moment, he reached out and gripped Aizen’s face in his palm. He held tightly onto that face and pushed his head to one side forcefully…thinking he might punch him a bit…

Then the shop keeper remembered himself. 

He walked away quickly, striding straight to the washroom. Splashing some cold water on his face, Kisuke tried to get in control of himself. He needed to be above Aizen. He needed not to let the man’s unrelenting arrogance get to him…Aizen was insane, after all…

“You should know,” Aizen began to say, sitting as calmly as before. “I am a well-known police inspector in the town where I live. I only requested a week off, so at the end of this week they will be expecting me back.”

“Why should I know that?” Urahara growled darkly. “I don’t care about the life you had.”

“Well, only because I told them I would be coming to Yokohama. I’m sure they would be able to find me if they came looking.”

Urahara grabbed a towel and walked over to Aizen’s chair. “So what, they’re just going to start ransacking all the storehouses of every candy shop in town?”

Aizen shrugged as much as he could, so tightly bound. “It could happen,” he replied.

Feeling his blood pressure rise again, Urahara gagged Aizen with the towel. He used perhaps a bit more force than necessary. 

“It could not happen.”

With that, the shop keeper left him alone for the day. He went and tended to his shop alongside Hiyori. Briefly, Aizen attempted to scream around the gag in his mouth. It made some noise, but Urahara merely turned on a phonograph cylinder with some music recording, blocking out all the noise.

And so, another day came and went. Aizen allowed him to doze a bit as the day started to turn into evening. The boredom alone was…excruciating.

___________________________________________________________

Aizen did not see Urahara again until the next day. Or at least…he thought. With how often he slept, along with the awkward lighting from the covered window, Aizen was starting to feel disoriented about how many days had passed. That irritated him. He wanted to at least have a time frame for when he could expect the police force to start looking for him.

After all, Aizen thought, they certainly would. At least Momo would want to… 

Yet, could he really count on those fools for anything? 

No, Aizen would need to hold out hope that perhaps someone from his office would think to look for him here. For everything else, he knew he was on his own.

Urahara came to the storehouse to take his breakfast and dinner. Sometimes Urahara walked in at odd hours of the day, pulling items from the containers in the back to bring out to the storefront. On these occasions, and others, he did not say anything to Aizen. For example, every time Urahara bathed, he took care to turn Aizen’s chair around so that the man was not facing him. Aizen always smiled at that. He had displayed himself so readily before…

The only time the shop keeper un-gagged him was to spoon a little bit of food and water into his mouth. Urahara was sure to quickly re-tie the gag afterwards, not letting Aizen say a word of falsehood. 

There came the inevitable point when Aizen asked to relieve himself. Urahara had planned for this. He wrapped Aizen’s hands and feet in ropes, leaving him gagged, and walked him inch by painful inch to the outhouse around the side of the house. The latrine was difficult to use bound by ropes, but Urahara did not seem to care. Nor did he let Aizen out of his sight at any point—no matter how awkward it got (which was, admittedly, pretty awkward). 

Needless to say, both Aizen and Urahara made sure that these occasions only happened once a day at most. 

By the end of the first full week, Urahara was tired of telling himself how much Aizen wanted to kill him. If it came to that, why didn’t Kisuke just kill Aizen first before the other man got the chance? It would be so easy, with Aizen bound there…

But then…

Urahara had sworn to himself that he was not a murderer. Not after the war, after everything that had happened in the Shinsengumi. After all that ruthless killing, Urahara’s soul was left threadbare. It had taken him years to put the pieces back together, to be able to look at himself in the mirror and say he was something like a man…

In order to do that, Urahara had promised himself he would no longer kill. He needed to atone for some of the miserable, inhuman things he and his comrades had done.

That did not account for Aizen. That man was of a different breed. He enjoyed the killing; he was a sadist. After the war, Aizen had chosen a profession that let him continue being violent. That man would never understand.

Urahara remembered Aizen’s eyes right before a kill…he remembered a time when Aizen had slaughtered two children who came from an imperialist household. After beheading them, Aizen turned back to him with a casual smile…

_“Are there any left, Kisuke?”_

Urahara would never forget that. That question, as if they were just exterminators. It had sent chills down his spine and made him fearful of Aizen as a person. 

Out of everyone, Aizen had been the most skilled and the most misguided. But, in all truth, Urahara always pitied Aizen as much as he inherently feared him. Aizen’s eyes showed the truth: Not that there was no soul inside of him, but that his soul had never been put to use. Either Aizen had laid the thing aside as useless, or he had never seen a real need to use it in his life. It was actually, Urahara thought, rather sad. The kid, for all his intelligence and god-like ambitions, would never know a real human existence.

To look in Aizen’s eyes and slit his throat, knowing he was ending the life of a madman who had so much talent and so little morals…who had never understood a thing about life…

Urahara could not bring himself to do it. 

This situation, Aizen bound to the chair in his storehouse, was not permanent. It could not be. Urahara would think of a solution that satisfied all the parameters. Perhaps he would poison Aizen again and dump him somewhere far away. Aizen would live and maybe he would remember this terrible experience enough never to come back again. 

But that left an unsatisfied lump in Urahara’s throat. If he did that, Aizen would just go on harming others. He knew he would. Those eyes…yes, he was certain of it.

So, what was he supposed to do? Maim the man so that he could not kill again? For Aizen that would be a fate worse than death. 

Perhaps, Urahara thought, he would need to talk to him more. To understand what exactly Aizen wanted from his life, other than to mindlessly kill for pleasure. There had to be some other motive. If Urahara could get to a motive, maybe he would get closer to a solution.

For that reason, after about a week of their now typical routine, Urahara left Aizen’s mouth unbound after feeding him. He put the towel down and sat against the wall across from his prisoner. 

The inspector was not entirely surprised. He had expected a change in their routine sooner or later—Urahara could not, after all, keep up this inhuman pace for very long (at least, Aizen hoped he could not). Now Urahara looked like he wanted to talk.

“I realized, Aizen,” Urahara began with a sigh. “I was being unfair to you. I asked you plenty of questions about yourself but I did not let you ask any about me. Considering the circumstances, I think I can answer some of your questions. So go ahead. Ask me anything.” 

Aizen blinked for a moment. Then, right away, he asked, “Why are you keeping me like this?”

“Because I don’t want you to kill me.”

“Yes, I know, but do you plan to keep me here forever? To leave me bound to this chair, hoping I eventually go mad from boredom and disuse?” 

Urahara sighed. Of course Aizen would ask this. It was only natural. “Aizen, you’re a danger to everyone around you. And yourself.”

The inspector frowned. “To myself?”

“Yes.” Urahara shook his head. “Unlike most people, you go looking for a fight. In these times, with secret police running around everywhere, hidden agendas, foreign diplomats storming the shores…most people are content just to survive. You are extremely lucky, you got off clean after surviving what we did—and yet you still go out looking to kill.”

“So you don’t understand me?” Aizen asked.

“No, I don’t.”

“Well, it’s rather simple.” Aizen’s face broke out into a grin. “I enjoy killing. And, after our little spat when we left the Shinsengumi, I’ve been wanting to kill you for years.”

Urahara remembered the so-called spat. He knew Aizen would bear a grudge. That much had been obvious at the time. But really, was that it?  


“So that’s all you want, then?” Urahara stared down his prisoner. “Just to kill and nothing more?”

Aizen thought. “I want the satisfaction of knowing where you are, Kisuke, so that I can always know there is no one else on this earth who can defeat me in swordsmanship. If you are dead, that makes my life easier.”

“So you want to be the best?”

Aizen sighed at that. “It’s not about just being the best, it’s about being the only. If you were dead, I would be the only man in Japan capable of killing anyone with a sword.”

Urahara clicked his teeth in disappointment. “Is that really so important? The time of swordsmanship is ending, you know. More guns pour into Japan every day.”

Hearing the truth of it, Aizen’s face darkened. “In fact, that makes this even more important. I will not just be the only, I will be the last.”

“The only and the last, huh?” Urahara scratched his chin. “So what will you do then, after you have that?” 

For a moment, Aizen was completely silent. His end game had been killing Urahara. After that…well, after that he would just be a police inspector…even if it was an exceedingly dull life…

Seeing his captive at a loss for words, Urahara smiled. He knew it. “Don’t know, huh?”

“I’m sure I’ll figure something out,” Aizen replied with his usual arrogant smirk. He meant it to be menacing, but Urahara seemed to find it funny.

He laughed whole-heartedly for a moment, angering the inspector to no end.

“What is so amusing?” Aizen snapped.

“That was always your problem, Aizen,” Urahara replied. “You don’t have any real goals. All you know is that you want to be the one and only. But that’s not worth a damn thing in the end.”

“Hmmm…” Aizen mused. He did not expect Urahara to understand his wants. “Well, at any rate, time for my next question.” His eyes glinted with curiosity. “Why did you undress in front of the window that night if you knew I was watching you?”

At that, Urahara gave pause. “…It was supposed to be distracting…” he mumbled.

“Distracting for whom?”

“For you…” Urahara started to blush slightly. 

It was an honest blush. His plan that night had been somewhat spur of the moment. Not his proudest moment but, being in display like that, knowing that Aizen was watching him…it had been interesting. That night, when got down to his shorts, Urahara realized his heart had started to beat faster, the blood in his body steadily rushing south as he thought of Aizen’s eyes on him… That had been right about when he kicked the ball against the door to distract Aizen.

Aizen’s keen eyes did not miss that blush. “If you wanted to distract me, I’m sure there were plenty of ways.” 

“None that would have been as convenient.” 

“Surely.” Aizen smiled for a moment. “It would also have been convenient for you if you enjoy being watched like that.”

Urahara blushed, shaking his head in disbelief. This was part of Aizen’s game, he knew that. But damn it, why did the guy have to be right?

“No, Aizen,” he replied. “Believe it or not I don’t enjoy getting naked in front of you. Sorry to disappoint.” 

“Is that why you turn my chair away every time you take a bath?” 

Urahara rubbed the back of his head. He clicked his teeth and pretended to be thinking—his usual defense mechanism. In truth, he turned the chair because he did not want a repeat of what had happened last time…but he thought that was more than fair.

“Can’t a man have some privacy?” Urahara asked eventually.

“Then will you give me some privacy the next time I go to use the latrine?”

Urahara’s blush deepened. He felt pretty guilty for all that, honestly. But, it wasn’t like he actually watched Aizen those times…and if he had caught a glimpse of some of Aizen’s…assets…it had been merely incidental! He felt guilty for that too. 

Aizen found it extremely entertaining to watch Urahara squirm under these questions. He had no goal really, other than his own amusement. If nothing else, having Urahara as his captor was not terribly dull all of the time. The man made for interesting conversation fodder.

“Of course, I don’t care if you’re looking at me or not, Kisuke.” That much was true. “I have nothing to hide. But, I do think we should be on equal ground. If you have a right to your own privacy then so do I.” 

Urahara stared into Aizen’s eyes. Clearly this was an attempt at escape. The second he turned his back on Aizen the man would probably knock him out cold or just stab him outright with some hidden blade…

“I can’t let you have that, Aizen. I’m sorry.”

The inspector shrugged again. He was getting good at making that look easy, even so bound. 

“I understand, Kisuke,” he replied. “Perhaps I would feel the same in your position. But if that’s the case, then I think you should let me watch you when you take a bath.”

Urahara’s eyes widened and he sputtered for a moment. That was the last request he had expected at a time like this! 

“W-what, do you want to see me get naked, then?”

“And if I do?”

Urahara tilted his head back. Now he was sure Aizen was fucking with him. This was all part of the game… 

“If you do, why should I…indulge that?” Urahara asked.

Aizen shrugged again, full of inhuman ennui. “In the name of fairness. And because it seems that you might enjoy it as well.” He sighed. “If we must be stuck like this, in this constant state of prisoner and captor, we might as well both be entertained.” 

“That’s…a ridiculous reason,” Urahara argued, removing his hat and shaking out his hair in exasperation.

“You don’t have to give me an answer right away,” Aizen responded. “Think about it. I have time, after all.” 

With that, the prisoner gave him the most shit-eating grin Urahara had ever seen. It set the blood in Urahara’s veins to boiling. If this was the game that Aizen was playing…if this was how it had to be…

Then fine.

“Alright, Aizen,” Urahara said. He got to his feet slowly. “I see your point. If this will bring us to an understanding then…watch me.” 

The prisoner’s eyes widened. He could hardly believe it, but Urahara was actually going to do this! That pointed to the other man’s talent for being unpredictable. Sure, Aizen had goaded him, but it was an empty request… 

Unless of course, Urahara actually did want to be watched. That…was even more interesting. 

The shop keeper walked into the wash room and began running the water. He tested the temperature with his hand, looking to be completely absorbed in what he was doing. Inwardly, Urahara was a little bit fascinated what might happen if he let Aizen watch him do this…the guy had been right again, damn him. This was interesting.

When the bath reached its proper level, Urahara left it and turned back over to Aizen. The younger man—the man who had indeed been Urahara’s _fukucho jokin_ at one time, one of the youngest to ever join the Shinsengumi—was staring at him with wide, eager eyes. They had an alive quality about them Urahara had not seen in many years. It was similar to how Aizen looked before killing, but not quite the same…

Smirking, Urahara took off his kimono top and stood naked to the waist. Instantly, Aizen ran his eyes all over the older man’s bared front. He had seen this before, yes, but now they were closer. And Urahara was watching him as Aizen looked…there was an aura of harsh reality to what they were doing that only amped up the tension. 

Slowly, as if this were not a task he did every day without thinking, Urahara untied the string on his _hakama_ pants. Once the string was loose, he grabbed his pants by the waist and lowered them. He went inch by inch over his hips, then let gravity do the rest of the work. Now he was standing in only his hastily tied _fundoshi._

Aizen licked his lips and said nothing.

Standing there like that, practically naked in front of one of the most dangerous people Urahara had ever known…well, it was not frightening in the least. He knew Aizen was bound. The man could not touch him even if he wanted to. Besides, Aizen had shown no interest in harming him, he might even be enjoying what he saw…

The idea of that—of Aizen, the apathetic mind-game master, getting off by looking at Urahara’s meager body…well he could not deny that turned him on. Besides, he could see Aizen’s sharp eyes memorizing every detail, every line of his body. It felt almost like those eyes were caressing him in their own way…

Urahara’s cock twitched in his _fundoshi._ He wondered if Aizen had seen. He found himself hoping the man had.

With that, Urahara pulled at the ties of the white cloth until his _fundoshi_ unwrapped and fell to the floor in a heap. Now he was completely naked in front of Aizen. 

Silence fell upon them as they stared at each other, each one gauging the other’s reaction.

Well, Aizen for his part was very distracted by the sight in front of him. Urahara made a rather…vivid image completely nude. His cock was beginning to harden, that much was clear, but he was still mostly limp. Even so, Urahara had a rather large dick—one of the biggest Aizen had ever seen (not that he had much experience, in truth). He was proportionate in girth and length so that his cock did not have any particularly outstanding attributes—except that overall, taken in as a whole, his cock was just big. All around. Aizen found himself wondering if Urahara would grow as he got hard, or if this was already his longest.

“So…” Urahara began. “I see you’re staring, Aizen. What do you think?”

“Hmm.” Aizen had no real reply. His mouth had gone slightly dry. In fact, a tinge of arousal had slithered through Aizen’s whole body as he looked on. Urahara was…an attractive man to be sure. 

Eventually, the younger man said, “I’ve seen better. But…I’ve also seen worse.”

Urahara chuckled. “Sure you have,” he said. “Whatever poor girl, or boy, you’ve charmed into your bed at one point or another. Can’t imagine you have a type other than sycophantic and accommodating.” 

Aizen sniffed a small laugh. Well, that was…in a sense, true. But he did not find sex to be all that interesting overall. He was much more interested in the pursuit of power and means, so therefore he had not spent a lot of time bedding lovers. 

But Urahara did not need to know that.

“I’m going to get in the bath now…” Urahara declared, feeling rather anxious as he turned his back to Aizen to walk to the tub. He was not sure why, Aizen was still securely tied. Except that he could still feel those eyes, running up and down his body like little exploratory fingers…

He wondered how Aizen liked the view of his ass.

Urahara lifted the bucket of water next to the tub and threw it on his body unceremoniously. He went about his bath routine, rubbing soap into the sponge and then scrubbing his body with it. He took more time than usual, knowing he had a captive audience. 

Aizen swallowed hard. He was not sure why his mouth had ceased to work properly. Another betrayal. Here was his worst enemy, growing harder by the second as he washed himself in front of Aizen. The inspector knew he should have been planning, thinking of how he could use Urahara’s clear weakness, his exhibitionism and arousal, against the man…but instead, Aizen’s mind was too focused on inconsequential things.

Like how, for instance, he had been correct that Urahara’s cock did not grow any longer as he got hard. It just filled out nicely until it stood almost adjacent to Urahara’s body, lifting up proudly at the tip. An interesting angle, for a cock that was…

And how, the soap that Urahara used to wash himself smelled faintly of lavender. Such a womanish scent. But not unpleasant. Furthermore, the suds Urahara lathered with got stuck in his hair, aiding unnecessary body to his already unruly mop. 

Interestingly, Urahara was surprisingly clean for a man that bathed less than once a day…

Aizen wondered what Urahara’s natural scent was. He checked his memory for any distant recollection of having sat near this man in the past, any unimportant detail he had filed away, just to have something to fill in the blank…but there was unfortunately no data.

In the next moment, Urahara threw another bucket of water onto himself. Aizen watched in fascination as the suds ran down his body onto the floor, disappearing. He would need to catalogue that memory, certainly, to work out what made it so utterly fascinating…

Was there power in this? Aizen wondered as Urahara stepped carefully into the tub. He was watching, sure, and that felt good…but Urahara was aware of him. More than aware, in control! He could walk away and stop this display at any time. The only one obligated to stay was Aizen because he was bound. 

But, if there was no power in this, then why was he…?

“Oh wow,” Urahara commented, staring into Aizen’s lap from his seat in the tub. “You’re actually getting hard from this, aren’t you?”

“I’m not alone,” Aizen replied quickly. He had no explanation for his own body, so it was better to redirect.

Urahara’s face reddened. He sank a bit into the tub and leaned his head against the back wall. “Yeah,” he said, staring up at the ceiling in thought. “I guess you were right about both of us enjoying this, Sosuke.” 

In that moment, Aizen realized that he actually rather liked when Urahara called him by his given name. Perhaps it was because he so rarely heard it these days, having discarded that name with his old identity. But still, something about the way Urahara said it…

“Well! I’m done for tonight!” 

In a rush, Urahara climbed out of the tub. He toweled himself dry and then wrapped his usual kimono around his body. He let the water out of the tub and began toweling his hair. 

Aizen felt like he needed to say something, to give some weight to the experience…but he was not sure what words could serve his purpose. Whatever…purpose that was.

“Goodnight, Aizen,” the shop keeper said. 

He stood in front of the bound younger man, trying to figure out how he really felt. He looked harder at the inspector’s lap—yes, that was definitely an erection. Not a small one, either…Urahara wanted to reach out and touch it…

But that was the line. Yes, he knew they were definitely crossing some sort of line here, admitting that they liked to watch each other…Urahara hoped dearly that there would not be any more unpleasant awkwardness because of this. 

Probably no hope of that, though.

Sighing and blowing out the candles, Urahara left Aizen untouched in the dark and climbed into his futon. The shop keeper sighed. He did not need to see to know that he was still at full attention himself. Well, only one thing to do about that…

Urahara let his kimono fall open. He grabbed his hardness and began quickly stroking—not at all his usual pace. Urahara liked to go slow and really enjoy the masturbation, but, this time…he was sure the images that came to his mind would be of the individual tied to a chair in his storehouse. Better to just come right away and not have to think about it—

And if, perhaps, an image of Aizen with his head thrown back in honest pleasure, naked and amenable to Urahara… If that image flashed through his mind as he came, well then that was his own business.

Meanwhile, Aizen sat in his chair and regarded his state. His erection had unfortunately not flagged a bit. That was…annoying. Usually, Aizen had complete control over his body. He could force himself to get hard or go soft, he could even bring himself to orgasm by force—a useful technique during sex with someone Aizen did not find particularly attractive. 

But now…none of the tricks Aizen had used in the past were working. His penis stayed uncomfortably hard, bound by the confines of his inspector’s slacks. So…he had no choice but to sit in the dark and bear it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about how long this is! (Heheh, that's what Urahara said. Anyway...)
> 
> Hopefully the next chapter will be up reasonably soon, and in reasonable length. Hard to say! (That's what...ah, you get the idea.)


	3. Undoing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aizen and Kisuke realize exactly what threatens them. They both have some choices to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super long chapter here! I am deeply in love with this story. There's a lot of plot as well, hopefully it comes off as a smooth ride!
> 
> Notes:  
> bakumatsu - the last few years of the Tokugawa shogunate in which Japan went through a civil war (known as the Boshin war). The two primary forces were the pro-shogunate forces and the imperial, pro-emperor forces. Obviously, during the revolution the Shinsengumi fought on the side of the shogunate. They lost, so the imperialists won and overthrew the shogunate. Thus began the Meiji Period.  
> wakizashi, kodachi - various types of Japanese short swords  
> tsuba - the guard on the end of the katana’s hilt  
> Zhili - a province in northern China during the Ming and Qing Dynasties (1300s - early 1900s). It is now split into various parts such as Hebei, Tianjin, northern Henan, and some of inner Mongolia.  
> Benton Daiba - a Shinsengumi fortress in Hokkaido. It was near Goryokaku, the last battle of the Boshin War.  
> Nagai Naoyuki - a Japanese hatamoto during the war

**Chapter Three: Undoing**

Hiyori sighed under the cold spring sun. She scratched her forehead in irritation and tried again to force some twine around the bag Urahara told her to pack. It was not often their candy store did any shipments—they were really much too small for that. But, of course, Urahara had been in one of his moods where he felt it necessary to demand sending a shipment to some old acquaintance in Kyushu…

That left Hiyori to do all the work of wrapping the items and making sure they were ready to ship by carriage and by boat.

And really, what did Urahara have in here? What were supposed to be tiny boxes of candy seemed unnaturally heavy as Hiyori stuffed them all in the burlap bag…

Whatever. It was no concern of hers what Urahara was selling on the side (probably opium, she thought, even though she hoped she was wrong). Her only job was to keep her mouth shut and get a bigger bag before this one burst at the seams.

“Hey, boss!” Hiyori put her hands on her hips in irritation. Urahara needed to help with this! It was his damn package.

No answer. 

“YO! You baldy!” 

Hiyori stomped into the store and looked around for her boss. Urahara was nowhere in sight. Strange. 

Curious, Hiyori looked out the front door to see if her boss was anywhere within range. Indeed, she spotted the striped-hat and _geta_ that signified her superior standing a good five feet away from the store, in the middle of the road. He was talking at length with what looked to be an old-fashioned samurai. Hiyori sighed in annoyance; it seemed Urahara had no end to a group of friends clinging for dear life onto the end of the feudal times. How pathetic.

But then… She glanced to the side as she thought the person might actually be a patron instead. If that was the case then she better not disturb him.

So, change in plans. Hiyori would need to go into the storehouse and get a bigger bag herself. Sure, Urahara had told her a week ago not to go into the storehouse without asking him first…for reasons undefined, but then Hiyori really did not want to ask too many questions about what her boss got up to. She had suspiciously agreed and left well enough alone.

But right then, she just wanted to get the job done and go home. It was already late in the afternoon, almost evening. 

Tossing her pigtails in determination, Hiyori stomped over to the door separating the storefront from Urahara’s bedroom. She slid the door open slowly, immediately accosted by the distinct smell of Urahara’s unwashed linen. The futon was unrolled from the night before…did Urahara even bother to fold and wash the thing properly?

Kicking the futon to the side in disgust, Hiyori walked quickly across the small bedroom to the storehouse door. She slid it open without hesitation, already thinking about what she might bring to her mother for dinner that night—

She blinked once. Twice. The image stayed the same: There was a man, a rather tall man, dressed in a policeman’s uniform, gagged and bound to a chair in the middle of the storehouse.

Hiyori gasped. The man was staring at her with a set of unnaturally beautiful brown eyes… Calm, but alert, even if he seemed a little worse for wear, slightly dirty…as if he had been there for a while already…

The young girl stuttered. She snapped the storehouse door closed immediately. 

“WHAT THE HELL!! YOU BALDYYYYY!! ” 

Closing her eyes against a sudden rush of shame and exasperation, Hiyori screamed where she stood. 

Urahara heard the sound loud and clear from outside the store. He quickly excused himself from the conversation and ran through the store—he really hoped she had not, but then he had to expect that eventually—

He saw Hiryori standing with her hand on the door to the storehouse. She was shaking with barely concealed rage and shock. 

“You….unimaginable bastard….” The young girl muttered between clenched teeth. She turned around slowly to stare at Urahara. “What in the name of all seven hells do you think you’re doing…this…this…this is TOO MUCH!!”

“Ahaha!” Urahara held onto his hat, heart beating furiously, as he tried to play dumb. “Whatever do you mean, Hiyori my dear? What’s got you so upset—”

“DON’T TRY THAT!!” Hiyori stomped her foot and continued screaming. “Why am I upset, you asshole? Because of THIS!!”

The young girl threw open the door to the storehouse with an angry flourish. Sure enough, Aizen sat in his constant spot on the chair, bound and gagged as always. His cool brown eyes were watching them with curiosity.

“You complete shithead!” Hiyori ran over to Urahara and started shaking him by the collar. “You’ve…theres’s a man tied up in the backroom!” 

Urahara grabbed Hiyori’s hand on his kimono collar to steady her. “Ahahahaha….” he began, mind racing. “So there is! Ah, yes, good eye….”

“DAMN IT!! STOP SCREWING AROUND!!” Hiyori roundhouse kicked Urahara in the gut. He doubled over briefly, grabbing his hat before it fell. “You tell me what the hell’s going on, RIGHT NOW!”

Urahara glanced over to Aizen. When their eyes met, a shiver of tension ran through each man respectively. The memory of the previous night, Urahara bathing in front of Aizen, was still fresh and clear.

Seeing those brown eyes again, Urahara could not help but imagine the vision he had while masturbating…the one of Aizen thoroughly enjoying getting fucked….

The shop keeper turned red in the face. Everything seemed to stop—but then he forced himself into action.

Coughing and turning back to Hiryori, Urahara took the girl by the hand. “O-of course, my dear!” He stammered, pulling his employee through the store. “I’ll explain everything! But first, let’s go somewhere more private….”

Before Hiyori could say another word, Urahara began closing down the store for the night. He had the place boarded and locked tight in record time. Smiling in his usual way, Urahara dragged Hiyori down the road to a hidden park bench near a pond. It was a common public spot—but not nearly so common at night.

Fireflies began to twinkle in the fading afternoon light. In the back of Hiyori’s mind, she wondered how it was warm enough for those seasonal insects…but the sight of Urahara, taking off his hat and staring into the darkening pond seriously, quickly overtook her thoughts. 

“Forgive me, Sarugaki-san,” the shop keeper began. He almost never called Hiyori by that title. “I probably should have been honest with you from the start.”

Hiyori blinked, trying to get her mind around what was happening. The water from the pond lapped quietly against peat grass, the only sound that cut the odd mood of their conversation. 

The more Hiyori thought about it, she knew almost nothing about Urahara. (The man tied up in the storehouse was proof enough of that.) She did not even know his real name. She just knew that Shihoin called him Yoshie, but they had bickered often enough that she knew not to expect this to be his actual given name. The mystery behind him irritated her at times, and then others…she just wanted to leave well enough alone. 

Urahara sighed. “It all started in _bakumatsu._ ”

Those words never came before anything good.

“You’ve heard about those times. Maybe you even remember some of it yourself.” The soul seemed to leave Urahara’s eyes as he spoke. “But they were very…confusing times. A person went through a lot just trying to survive day to day. A man…” He sighed. “A man could lose himself in those times.”

Hiyori blinked, starting to understand what this had to do with the bound man. She swallowed hard, not really wanting to hear the rest.

“Sugimura-san—”

“That’s not even my real name, you know?”

Hiyori closed her eyes. “I know.”

“But…” Urahara slapped his knees in good natured humor, a glimpse of his normal self. “I’m sure you don’t want to hear about all that. The only thing you need to know right now is that the man you saw today, the man I’m currently…detaining…” He scratched his neck awkwardly. No way around that one. “…he was a man responsible for doing a lot of bad things during _bakumatsu._ As part of the revolution. He came to my house to kill me, Hiyori, I had no other choice—”

“Stop.” Hiyori got to her feet suddenly. “Just stop with all that crap. I don’t…want to hear it…”

Urahara thought for a moment, trying to figure out the young girl’s perspective in all this. He envied Hiyori in some ways, for being young during the revolution. Other times he could not imagine the hell of growing up in a civil war…

Well, the shop keeper reasoned. Either way, Hiyori did not need to know more than she already did.

So, the older man nodded his head. “Right you are. But, you should know, that man I’ve got in there? Yeah, he’s not going anywhere anytime soon.”

“But…Sugimura-san…” Hiyori was seriously thinking about quitting right then and there. To hell with all of this. “He’s wearing a police officer’s uniform. Is he really…?”

Urahara paused. “In a manner of speaking, yes he is a police officer.”

“A manner of speaking…?” Hiyori growled in frustration. “Look, I don’t know what the hell you’re playing at, what the hell you did in _bakumatsu_ , but I really don’t care! Keeping a guy locked up in your backroom is way beyond the job description. You said light grunt work, some shop keeping stuff, maybe some protection work at MOST…”

That was, after all, their arrangement. Hiyori kept a butcher knife hidden in her apron for that reason. She came from a part of town where weapons were compulsory…

Urahara said nothing while he waited for Hiyori to finish.

“…so, this whole keeping a police officer prisoner? It crosses a goddamn line!” For some reason, Hiyori was losing conviction the more she spoke. Maybe it was the way Urahara remained calm for all of it.

He smiled at her. “Yes, I know. And there is no reason why you should feel obligated to put up with it. That said, I will give you wonderful references if you decide to put in your two week’s notice.” His eyes turned cold, even as the smile stayed strong on his face. “But I would ask that you keep everything you saw today to yourself. As a…professional courtesy.”

“Are you threatening me?” Hiyori asked, feeling her pulse quicken. 

“Of course not. I’m asking as a courtesy.”

Only Urahara, Hiyori thought, had the ability of saying one thing and meaning entirely the opposite. But, really, it did not matter. Urahara could threaten her easily—Hiyori had seen him fight before. There was a reason the man hired her for some protection on the side. People came after this guy, people with strange accents and bizarre weapons…

Hiyori knew from experience that Urahara could fight like a demon. There was no part of her that wanted to mess with that. If she quit now, she would just go quietly on her way, put this whole business behind her.

“However, if for some reason you do decide to stay, Sarugaki-san,” Urahara continued. “I would be inclined to double your hourly pay. And ask you for some, minor, extra duties from time to time…”

Hiyori dug her fingernails into her palm. Twice the pay? Hard to turn that down. And really, what other kind of work would she be qualified for? Protection work for a small time opium pusher, something probably more dangerous because of how reckless it was? At least Urahara knew what the hell he was doing…probably…

“What kind of…extra duties?” she asked, hating herself all the more.

“Oh, nothing really.” Urahara smiled nonchalantly. “Just a matter of bringing things in and out of the storehouse when I ask, following all my precautions of course. Making sure there are lines of chalk on the floor whenever you leave the store, to alert us for anyone who might be sneaking around at night…”

It sounded reasonable enough.

“And, of course, leaving that prisoner alone entirely. Pretending he’s not even there, if you will. All for the best, I’m afraid.” 

Hiyori sat back down on the bench. It was already night now. Her mother would be wondering where she was, stomach rumbling in hunger, hands shaking in worry…

“So we’re just going to move on like there’s not a guy tied up in the storehouse, aren’t we?” The young girl was starting to make peace with the idea. No other choice.

“Precisely! You are very observant, Hiyori-chan.”

They sat in silence for a few more minutes.

Eventually, Hiyori realized that she had already made her decision. That being done, it was well past time for her to go home.

“It’s late,” she said. “My mother will be wondering where I am…” She gathered her things and began walking away. 

“See you tomorrow, Sugimura-san.”

Urahara nodded, expecting no less. “See you tomorrow, Hiyori-chan.”

__________________________________________________________

Aizen bided his time in the locked storeroom. Hiyori was the first person he had seen besides Urahara in over a week. Now he needed to decide if this discovery of hers would help him at all. Most likely, the girl would remain loyal to her superior and the whole thing would amount to an inconsequential mess. 

Moreover, Urahara’s face when he looked at him… That was truly the more interesting thing that had just happened. Urahara looked him up and down as a matter of course, face turning slightly red—as if he had been imagining Aizen ever since the previous night…

The inspector reveled in the thought. It was reasonable enough to assume Urahara had masturbated after he left the storehouse, any man would. But, Aizen knew, in some ways masturbation stoked the flames of desire and made them burn all the more. If Urahara had been thinking about Aizen, well then…

After about an hour, Urahara returned through the storeroom door. It was pitch black by then, but the shopkeeper lit only one candle. He brushed past Aizen’s chair silently, starting the business of making his meal for the night. Aizen was still gagged so he had no way of contributing. But perhaps his presence was enough of a statement on its own. 

Urahara sighed as he cooked his fish in the semi-dark. So much for hoping that this would not be awkward… Just feeling Aizen’s presence in the room made his hair stand on end. He had to blink hard to focus on ignoring the strange…want…in the pit of his stomach. His skin tingled, especially the skin on his back that directly faced Aizen’s chair. It seemed the closer the proximity, the more intense the response…

This was a mess.

But there could be no going back now. Deciding that they would have to find a way to move forward from all this, Urahara lit a few more candles around the storehouse, bringing a comfortable lighting to the place. 

As always, Aizen remained unperturbed where he sat. His eyes slithered around Urahara’s body as the man worked.

Once his dinner was cooked, Urahara walked over and un-gagged his prisoner. He took care not to look the man in the face as he did so. 

“Thank you, Kisuke,” the inspector said immediately once his mouth was free. 

Urahara shoved some chopsticks full of fish in the other man’s mouth to silence him. Aizen chewed thoughtfully and said nothing while Urahara fed him his share. Afterwards, the shopkeeper settled against the wall and ate his own meal in silence.

“So,” Aizen began. “That girl’s name is Hiyori, is it?”

Urahara nodded. 

“She seems quite young to be working for you.” Just a simple prodding with questions. Aizen had correctly deduced all that had happened.

“She’s older than she looks,” Urahara replied, still not making eye contact.

“Mm.” Aizen paused. “Shall I expect to be seeing more of her around here?”

Urahara nodded again. “Yeah.” He swallowed what was in his mouth. “I’d tell you not to try anything with her, but I’m not an idiot. I know you’ll try something the second you get the chance.”

At that, Aizen laughed lightly. “And what exactly would I try, Kisuke? Bound as I am? With that infernal gag you seem to love putting in my mouth every day?” 

The older man shrugged. “I’m sure I don’t know. But I know you. You’ll try something.”

“You think so little of me, Kisuke. Perhaps I am above beguiling a young, defenseless girl.”

Urahara smirked. “Hiyori is not defenseless. And no, you’re not above that. I’ve seen you murder children, Aizen.”

In a dim corner of his mind, Aizen found himself disappointed that Urahara had chosen to call him by his last name. He quickly dismissed the thought. 

“Children?” Aizen asked innocently. “When have I ever murdered children?”

“During the war.” Urahara looked up at him. “In the Shinsengumi.”

Aizen squinted, as if thinking hard. “You’re mistaken, Kisuke. I’ve never laid a hand on a child—much less a blade.” 

“There were two children you beheaded.” Urahara’s memory was not faulty, he could say that much. “They came from an imperialist household and you slaughtered them like it was nothing. I remember…quite well.” 

“Two children? From imperialists?” In all truth, it was more than possible. When they were told to eradicate a household, Aizen was one of the ones who took care to eradicate the whole household. “Well then. Perhaps I was just following orders.” 

“Right, right.” Urahara scraped his dish clean and laid it on the floor. “Following orders. So. Whose orders are you following now?” 

With that, he lifted the brim of his hat and stared Aizen in the face. Their eyes met again and suddenly Aizen felt a strong desire to have his hands free. He wondered what that man’s skin would feel like under his fingertips…not ripping or slashing, just exploring the feel of it for himself…

“The municipality, of course.” Aizen took care to answer his captor’s question. “On the edict of the Meiji government.” 

“So they’re the ones who ordered you here to kill me?” 

“…No.” 

“Then whose orders were you following that time?” Urahara readjusted his legs to sit criss-cross.

“No one’s.” Aizen stretched his fingertips, the only movement he had. “I was operating under my own jurisdiction.” 

Urahara nodded. “That’s what scares me, Sosuke.”

The younger man’s eyes widened as he heard that name. He flinched slightly in his bindings. He felt a strange rush of…adrenaline, perhaps, making his heart skip a beat.

Of course, Urahara did not miss that reaction. Aizen seemed to thrash suddenly at that comment. The older man’s mind ran in a hundred directions as he tried to think of the reason. He had never seen a reaction like that from Aizen, as if the younger man’s body came alive all of a sudden—

They sat in silence for several long moments. That same tension from the night before crept up on them. Aizen was imagining Kisuke naked, water running down the other man’s capable body. Urahara was imagining what Aizen would look like completely naked as well, the young man’s body twitching with life as he had just seen. 

Surely, Aizen would be a bewitching sight in his bare form. Urahara tried to call up memories from the past when he had seen him like that, perhaps from the baths…but no, Aizen had never bathed with the rest of the group. The only data Urahara had on Aizen’s body was from the glimpses he had seen taking Aizen to relieve himself. And that hardly counted, after all. 

Still, the shop keeper remembered one time when he caught a full side view of Aizen’s penis. Rather long for a limp dick, but thin, he recalled. What would it look like framed by the rest of Aizen’s smooth, silky body? What would it look like hard…? 

“What are you thinking right now?” 

Urahara was startled from his thoughts. Aizen stared at him, eyes boring into his face, as if trying to read his mind.

The older man smirked. Honestly, he wanted to share his thoughts with Aizen and see what the other man thought of them. (Not so much the images he had of Aizen in the latrine, those were slightly shameful after all, but…)

“I’m imagining what you look like naked.” Urahara told him point blank, his smirk filling out into a smile.

Aizen’s eyes widened. That sounded like honesty. He had not expected that—but then, how could he hope to read the moves of this man? The inspector laughed. He was startled, but also…there was opportunity in this. Opportunity to be freed from ropes after so long. 

“Are you, now?” Aizen asked. “Well, I’m sure there’s one way you can find out for yourself.” 

“And what way is that?” Urahara knew what his captive was implying, but he wanted to hear the words all the same. Issues of…consent, perhaps. (He cringed at the thought.)

“You could strip me,” Aizen offered. “Allow me to take a bath. I haven’t bathed since I’ve been here, after all, and I admit that it would be quite a relief.”

Urahara rose to his feet. Aizen offered, no mistake there, he had heard correctly. And he would be lying if he said his own dick had not stirred to life when he heard those words.

“And how…” The older man asked, approaching his captive slowly. “Would you like me to strip you?”

Aizen shrugged, more adrenaline pumping through him the closer Kisuke got. “You could untie me from this chair, first. Keep my hands bound, just like we usually do.” 

“Could I?” Urahara asked. He was standing an inch away from Aizen’s chair. Slowly, he reached out one hand and ran his fingers along the rope at Aizen’s shoulders. 

Aizen’s thighs twitched in response, as if Urahara had actually touched him that time.

“You seem a little jumpy, Sosuke,” the older man whispered, bending closer to his captive. “Everything alright?”

Aizen could feel the warmth from Urahara’s body and breath. His skin felt like it was burning again, but this time, he was craving something very distinct…

“Just that you have me here at your will, senpai,” Aizen answered in a quiet whisper. “Whatever do you plan to do with me?”

Urahara’s clothed member stood at full attention when he heard that. Sure, it was probably another trick. Some mind game of Aizen’s. But right then, at that moment, he did not care. He decided from that point on not to care whether Aizen was fucking with him. He did not see a way Aizen could do anything about it regardless.

After all, Urahara was the one holding the ropes in all this. 

So, the shopkeeper’s hand travelled down from the ropes at Aizen’s shoulders. He stroked along the buttons of Aizen’s dirty uniform jacket. Slowly, the older man began undoing the buttons one by one. Aizen’s eyes kept flicking back and forth between Urahara’s hands and his face. 

Urahara spread the jacket open, exposing the white undershirt beneath. He could see Aizen’s chest moving up and down as the man breathed—perhaps a little quicker than usual but he could not be sure. Urahara pulled the uniform jacket as far apart as he could. Then, without saying a word, he reached into his own kimono to pull out his knife.

Aizen’s eyes flashed when he saw the blade. He knew Kisuke had no intention of killing him (he would have done so by now). But maybe he would hurt Aizen a little… Strangely, Aizen felt himself growing stiff in his uniform pants (again, as heavy as the night before) as he thought of Kisuke teasing him with that blade…

Indeed, the shopkeeper seemed to know what Aizen wanted. He ran the tip of the knife from Aizen’s collarbone to his stomach. He tapped Aizen’s belt buckle with the edge of the knife and stared at the growing erection in his captive’s lap. 

The older man’s eyes flicked back to Aizen’s face. The younger man was definitely breathing heavily now. There was a faint—very faint, unnoticeable by anyone who was not Kisuke—blush traveling across the inspector’s cheeks. His wide lips were wet and slightly parted.

Urahara wanted to kiss him then. He felt a very strong urge stirring in his core to lean down and taste the man’s mouth, almost like Aizen was physically tugging him closer…

Fighting the urge as much as he could, Urahara leaned down anyway and whispered in Aizen’s ear, “What do you want from me, Sosuke?”

Aizen swallowed a moan as those softly spoken words travelled over the side of his face. He knew what he wanted…he wanted Urahara to free him…but then, he could not deny the way his blood seemed to run hot at this situation. He wanted to feel more of Kisuke’s body, to feel the man pressing against him, perhaps touching his bare skin…

The inspector tried to focus his thoughts. He could not afford to give in to his body at this point. Especially as it was becoming clearer and clearer that his traitorous body wanted Urahara…wanted him quite badly…

“Strip me, Kisuke,” Aizen answered. The words came of their own accord, but he found it was an honest meshing of his body’s desires and what he had planned from the beginning. 

Urahara leaned back. He smiled down at the younger man, whose face was now very discernibly red.

“As you wish.” 

With that, Urahara began cutting the clothing away from Aizen’s body. The younger man could not hold back a gasp as he felt the shape point of the blade against his skin. But Urahara was quite skilled and very gentle. Aizen could feel the imprint of the knife leaving a hot trail against his flesh, but he was neither cut nor bleeding, not even from the slightest knick that was bound to happen in a situation like this.

No, Urahara cut Aizen’s police uniform at all angles, until the material was in rags. But he left Aizen’s body completely unmarked. 

Once he pulled all the tattered cloth away, Aizen sat bound and naked to the waist. Urahara unfurled the ropes on his shoulders and stomach, frowning slightly when he saw faint red rashes lining the pale skin there—irrevocable rope burns from the tight binding Urahara had given him. 

Feeling a pang of guilt, Urahra winced and unconsciously laid his fingertips against a rash. Aizen hissed, sucking in breath through his teeth as his body seized up in response.

“I’m sorry,” Urahara said. “I’m sorry for…doing this to you…” 

The younger man’s mind was swimming. It felt like he was being consumed by sensation just from the barest of touches from Urahara’s fingers. He knew well the power in those fingers—power that could rival his own, even—but they were touching him so carefully. Aizen’s member was now painfully hard, straining against the buttons on his pants. 

Urahara saw how Aizen twitched and thrashed against his touch. He did not know if that was pleasure or pain—both seemed equally unlikely coming from this man, but then again… His heart quivered as he thought of this young man suffering. Aizen used to be his kouhai, after all, and his comrade…perhaps even a friend if such a thing existed between Shinsengumi members…

Without thinking, Urahara bent forward and kissed the marks on Aizen’s bare chest. 

“Nnh…” 

A strangled sound escape Aizen’s mouth. He felt Kisuke’s soft lips on his body, like feeling a slice of power and pleasure right against his exposed flesh. His mind shorted out in a burst of raw need, and all Aizen could think about was feeling more of those glorious lips against him…all over…

Urahara kissed Aizen’s chest harder, running his mouth all across the burn marks. He felt the younger man quivering underneath him. He risked a glance upwards and saw Aizen with his eyes squeezed closed, face contorted in pleasure—

Urahara froze as he saw that. Was that look, that face…was that honesty? If Aizen were playing at this then surely the man would have kept his eyes open, searching for some kind of advantage… But Aizen instead seemed completely absorbed in the moment, like he had forgotten all about his plans…

The older man smiled against the skin at his lips. Ah. So, Aizen was human after all. And he was into this—that much was clear from the twitching hardness Urahara could see in Aizen’s lap. But even if Aizen could fake a hard on (which he guessed was possible) there was no way the younger man would leave himself vulnerable on purpose. 

Aizen wanted him. Urahara was sure of that now. 

Giddy with happiness and desire, a mix of emotions so pure they left him lightheaded, Urahara reached down and grabbed a fistful of Aizen’s sizable erection.

“Ah!” Aizen cried, hips bucking up into the touch as much as they could. Urahara’s strong touch there, right where he needed it… 

Aizen had never felt such single-minded focus on anything but fighting before. Now, all that unshakable presence of mind was fixated Urahara’s touches. His nerves and muscles worked in tandem, straining against his bonds to feel more of Urahara’s skillful grip.

The older man smiled and looked up at his captive. He kissed Aizen’s collarbones, one on each protrusion, and began slowly massaging the rock-hard length in his fist. 

“Ah….ha…” Aizen twitched, opening his eyes to stare at his former senpai. 

Urahara saw nothing but true need there. Aizen had lost a good deal of his normal composure, but the intense focus with which he operated still remained. Only now, Aizen had focused everything on him…

The older man felt a rush of power, mixed with heady arousal, at the thought that he had Aizen—finally had him, completely at his will.

Continuing to massage Aizen’s stiffness, Urahara got down on his knees. He was going to get comfortable for this one. He kissed along Aizen’s tight stomach, feeling the muscles shivering underneath. Slowly, he began to pop open the buttons on Aizen’s pants. He undid the belt buckle and slid the thing off, discarding it on the floor. 

Smirking, Urahara pulled open Aizen’s pants, exposing the white foreign-styled underwear beneath. Knickers, he believed they were called? He could not remember the exact term. Still, the white cloth was loose enough to stretch nicely around Aizen’s cock, making the thing in his lap look more like a tent than anything.

Aizen looked down at what Urahara was doing. He tried to reason with himself, to calm the aching need he felt as Urahara stared at his obvious arousal. After all, he thought vaguely, he was still aroused from the night before…it made sense he would be painfully hard now, after only a little touching…

Urahara ran his finger along the bulge. Aizen hissed again in response. The shopkeeper tried to estimate the length and girth of the member while it was covered—mostly just so he could tease Aizen a little more. Still, the younger man had nothing to be ashamed of: His dick was much longer than average and it filled out nicely when he got hard. Any woman, or man, would be lucky to enjoy it…

Now, Urahara thought, he was the lucky one. He had this beautiful member all to himself. So, he bent forward and laid a kiss against the tip.

“K-kisuke!” Aizen’s body convulsed again. He felt all lingering control ebbing away…

Urahara sat back on his knees and watched the cotton of Aizen’s knickers turn wet as the man began to lose himself in arousal. In all honesty, Urahara himself felt a certain sticky wetness in his own _fundoshi,_ indicating that he was not in much better of a state. 

Several very enticing thoughts ran through his head as Urahara thought what he would do with Aizen now. Eventually, he decided to go with the easiest route. So, he picked up his knife and began cutting the uniform trousers away. He did not take his time now. Instead, Urahara tore away the clothing forcefully until Aizen was bare except for his knee-length underwear. 

Urahara sat back to admire his handiwork. Aizen was now flushed throughout his body, chest heaving, muscles twitching with need in random places. 

“How are you, Sosuke?” Urahara asked, sitting up again and running his palms along Aizens thighs. 

“I’m…” Aizen thought how we would answer. Well, might as well tell the truth. It was all out in the open anyway. “…quite well.”

“Heh,” Urahara patted Aizen’s legs, glancing at his leaking arousal. “I’d say.” 

At that, the older man leaned forward and kissed Aizen on the lips. Aizen was not expecting it, and his body seemed paralyzed as a response. All the younger man could do was endure the unnaturally good feel of Urahara’s lips against his own. He turned his head slightly to get a better angle. Urahara was a gentle kisser, as gentle as he had been with a blade; precise, but not weak. There was an underlying force behind that mouth, a steady urgency that made Aizen let go of all his hesitations. He did not care what happened to him at this point—Kisuke was kissing him and he felt amazing. Every time the older man pulled away to get breath, he came back softer and yet more insistent. 

It was the first time Aizen could remember his lips being such a center of activity, the pinnacle of his nervous system at that moment—

Then, of all the things that could have happened and would ever happen, there was a distant knock at the storehouse door. Both men jumped in response.

Holding onto Aizen’s chin, Urahara looked to the door in confusion. Aizen growled in frustration. His body had been inching towards much needed release—more desperate than any other time in the inspector’s memory.

“Hang on,” Urahara said, rising to his feet. Aizen growled again, and this time Urahara realized how annoyed his prisoner was. He looked down at the younger man with a smile. Stroking the side of his angered face, Urahara said, “Hold onto that thought. I just need to see who it is.”

So, the shop keeper walked over to the window and peeled back the sheet to see who had come to his shop in the middle of the night. Sure enough, as he had expected from the moment he heard the sound, Shihoin Yoruichi stood on the other side of the door. She was glaring at him, glancing over her shoulder in an agitated way.

Urahara sighed. His worst fear. If Yoruichi was here then she no doubt had some bad news. 

“It’s Yoruichi,” Urahara said to Aizen, walking over to the washroom for a moment. He grabbed a _yukata_ and threw it over Aizen’s lap—giving the younger man what privacy he could. 

“Shihoin?” Aizen asked, reeling from surprise. “She’s still alive?” The rumor was that Shihoin had died from tuberculosis sometime in the war.

“Oh yes. Quite alive, I assure you.” With that, Urahara opened the door a crack and tried to squeeze outside to join his companion there.

Yoruichi slapped her hand against the door. “No,” she said. “I need to come inside for this.”

Saying nothing else, the woman pushed past Urahara and marched into the storehouse. 

“Alright, why don’t you come in…” Urahara mumbled to the night air as he heard Yoruichi cursing with surprise. 

Why was today the day everyone needed to find out about Aizen? Of all days, right when he was about to finally bed the boy…or, well, if that was what they were doing… He scratched his head and closed the door firmly.

“I’ll be damned, Aizen Sosuke!” Yoruichi put her hands on her hips and smiled at the bound man. “We meet again, after five years of cold silence!”

“Hardly cold, if you remember, Shihoin-san,” Aizen replied, tossing his bangs back. He appeared as unaffected as he could be, what with the knickers and _yukata_ the only covering he had for his otherwise naked body. (Was he still aroused? Urahara strained his eyes to make out any bulge…but there was none. He cursed inwardly, angry at himself for his own disappointment.)

“After all,” Aizen continued. “I thought you were dead.” 

“Well, you know how useful rumors can be,” Yoruichi said back. 

She sat down against Urahara’s kitchen table—apparently completely unaffected at finding their old comrade tied up to a chair in Urahara’s storeroom. Instead, the woman helped herself to a cup of sake, knocking it back easily.

“So, now that we’re all reacquainted…” Urahara sat at the table opposite Yoruichi. “What brings you here tonight?”

“Hmm…” Yoruichi shoved a handful of rice into her mouth from the untouched bowl on the table. “Don’t care to explain why you’ve got Sosuke-chan tied up over there?”

“Not particularly,” Urahara answered. 

He looked over at Aizen. The younger man shrugged and said, “I believe these matters speak for themselves.”

Continuing to eat, Yoruichi laughed around another mouthful. “Yeah. Suppose you came to kill our old Urahara, huh, Sosuke-chan?”

“Evidently.” Aizen’s brown eyes turned cold. He had never much liked Yoruichi. Besides that, he rather hated the way she called him. Hearing the name out of her mouth had quite the opposite effect as hearing it from Urahara’s…he noted that in the back of his mind.

“Well…” Yoruichi finally swallowed and poured herself another cup of sake. “Guess you learned your lesson. But actually, it’s a good thing you’re here, Sosuke-chan. What I’m about to say concerns you, too.” 

Before she spoke, she shoveled another few fistfuls of rice into her mouth, combined with another generous helping of sake.

“Please, take your time, Yoruichi,” Urahara said in irritation. “And help yourself to whatever else you may want from my kitchen.”

“Thanks,” the woman replied, either missing or not caring about the sarcasm in her companion’s voice. “Got any fish?” 

“Of course.” Eyes growing cold, Urahara reached over to the stove and handed Yoruichi an uncooked fish from the pile he had used to cook his own dinner. 

As usual, Yoruichi dove into the raw fish with relish. She used whatever chopsticks were on the table, but they were mostly to pull back the bones. She ate the meat right from her hands.

“So, it seems you have been on the road for some time, Yoruichi,” Urahara began. She was showing the signs of rabid hunger that came from days in tactical espionage. “Where have you been?”

“In Kyoto,” the woman replied. She set the fish down and gulped some more sake. “For the past week or so. Haven’t had a good meal in days.”

Aizen, for his part, was honestly rather curious what business Shihoin had in Kyoto, in Japan’s capital city. Was she spying on government officials? Why the hell would she want to do that? Being a member of police force, Aizen knew himself how duplicitous things were in Kyoto.

Yoruichi’s purple eyes locked on Urahara’s face. Having known her so long, the man detected a ghost of fear in her eyes. “I saw him,” she said. “He’s here, Kisuke. In Japan.”

The shopkeeper closed his eyes. It had only been a matter of time, but still…ice cold determination and dread filled his heart. 

Silence settled over the crowd of three.

Eventually, Aizen cleared his throat. “Care to tell me who you’re talking about?” 

Yoruichi glanced over at the man in the chair. For the first time, she noticed how little he was wearing. She shook her head in disbelief. “Why are you dressed like that, Sosuke-chan?”

Aizen closed his eyes and sighed. “Like what?”

“Like…that. Normally a _yukata_ goes on your shoulders, you know?” She took another bite of fish.

“Well, for that, I’m afraid you will have to inquire of Urahara-san. I am, after all, his responsibility here.” Aizen smirked at his captor. 

(Really though, he thought, he had nothing to be smug about…considering that Urahara could have just as easily explained how they were about to engage in some very consensual sex act…which Aizen preferred to keep to himself, all things considered.)

Yoruichi glanced at Urahara. The other man shrugged back and poured his own glass of sake. His mind was focused on different matters. 

“Whatever,” Yoruichi declared, throwing her hands in the air. “I don’t have time for your nonsense, Aizen.” 

Urahara smiled into his cup. Finally someone who understood…

“Care to answer my question, then?” Aizen titled his head to side curiously. 

Yourichi sighed. “Well, guess you have a right to know.” Grunting and shifting into a more comfortable position, Yoruichi regarded Aizen seriously and continued. “His name is Yhwach. He’s a—”

“—foreign diplomat from Germany,” Aizen finished for her, “here to meet with our new Meiji government and establish some trade relations.”

She stared at the bound man impassively. “Yeah.”

Aizen shrugged. “I fail to see how that’s news. It’s in all the papers. Even the barely semi-literate Japanese would know about him and his arrival.”

Urahara sighed, not really hearing the conversation. He thought distantly of how fast he could pack up his store and relocate. It was a shame, after just promising Hiyori a sizable raise and new opportunities…

Shaking her head, Yoruichi went on. “Yes, everyone knows about him, but no one knows why he’s here.”

“Besides trade relations?” Aizen asked, truly unsure the other layer of intent his former comrade was referring to.

“Yes. You see, Sosuke-chan…Yhwach is not just a diplomat. He’s a mercenary captain. One of the elite underground squad of soldiers bred entirely for the purpose of using Germany’s new weapons.” Yoruichi crunched on some fish bones. “Germany is a country plowing its way towards war, like the rest of Europe. They have been stockpiling weapons, developing new guns of all sorts, and this mercenary force of Yhwach’s…they’re highly trained in all these new military ops.” 

Aizen blinked. It seemed reasonable enough for a diplomat to also be a military man.

“Yhwach is here in Germany for two reasons: One, to test out their new weapons, and two…” Yourichi sighed. “To wipe out the rest of the resistance to imperial Japan and secure our country as an ally.” 

Now, that also made sense. From a tactical standpoint, as well as…how much Urahara and Yoruichi seemed to fear these men.

“Yhwach is here to kill us, Aizen,” Yoruichi stated. “Any surviving members of the Shinsengumi as well as anyone who fought on the side of shogunate in _bakumatsu._ ”

Aizen closed his eyes and chuckled. “That’s rather obtuse,” he said. “Some of these alliances have changed in the past five or ten years. I myself am now a member of the police force—a public servant in employ of the Meiji government—”

“Well then, you’re probably safe,” Yoruichi huffed. “Leave it to you to be the one exempt from any responsibility. It’s the likes of us who are in trouble—me and Kisuke who have been living in hiding ever since the war.”

The rational part of Aizen read that statement from Yoruichi for what it was: A promise of freedom. If this Yhwach was coming to kill Urahara, then…all Aizen needed to do was bide his time and wait for the mercenaries to show up and do his work for him! These foreigners would take one look at Aizen, bound and imprisoned by the evil man from the Shinsengumi and free him right away, return him to the police force with renewed honor.

He wanted to smirk, but…perhaps it was too soon. Who knew the intentions of these men, mercenaries on a foreign shore sent to kill? Their allegiances could not be so easily discerned. Besides, Aizen would be lying if he said he was not rankled by the thought of foreigners coming in to handle Japanese affairs…some men who thought they were superior by virtue of their guns alone, coming to kill his Kisuke—

“Is that all you’ve got, Yoruichi?” Urhara grumbled and rose from his chair. “Just to let me know he’s finally here, after all this time spent worrying about it?”

“He’s got a hundred, maybe a hundred and fifty guys with him,” Yoruichi explained. “And those new gatling guns I told you about.” 

Urahara nodded. “We expected this. Anything new?”

Yoruichi looked sadly over at her friend. She knew how hopeless he felt in that moment. “Unfortunately no,” she said. “It’s what we feared. But look, if we follow the plan I laid out originally—”

“And go to China? Hide out in mountains of Zhili for the rest of our lives?” Urahara smiled and laughed lightly. “How is that a life, Yoruichi?”

“It’s survival,” she said seriously. “That’s all that matters.”

Urahara shook his head. “No, Yoruichi. That’s not the only thing that matters.” He ambled over to a small closet on the side of the room. Diving right in, the man pulled out a whole arsenal of _bakumatsu_ -era weapons. There were katanas, some ninja-style hand grenades, _wakizashi,_ and _kodachi…_ Urahara even pulled out a chest full of various poisons.

“I say we fight until the end,” Urahara declared, sifting through his weapons until he found one sword—a bizarre, crimson red blade. “That might be the only path left for us.”

“But it’s not!” Yoruichi got to her feet angrily. “My scout, Sui Feng, she’s waiting for us in China!” 

“Then you go, Yoruichi.” Urahara unsheathed Benihime, staring at the dark red end where the blade met the _tsuba_. He re-sheathed it with a quiet snap. Now Benihime dangled at his side where she once lived. “I’ll be here, if you change your mind.”

The dark-skinned woman grit her teeth, growling in frustration. “Damn it, Kisuke! You’re so fucking stubborn sometimes!”

Yoruichi stomped angrily to the door. She took a deep breath and regarded her friend once more.

“I know how you feel, Kisuke, but, please…think about what this means. Yhwach’s men can slaughter you without you even realizing it. I’ve heard of these long-range rifles…they can shoot with accuracy from several meters away—”

“And have the Shinsengumi fallen so far as to be that easily killed?” 

Aizen had chosen his time to speak up. This was, after all, the only thought left in his mind as he heard the conversation unfold. 

Yoruichi and Urahara turned to look at him. The older man smiled, “Well put, Sosuke.”

For a moment, it felt like the three were back ten years ago, at the start of the Shinsengumi’s formation. They were all comrades, fighting alongside a common enemy. But then…

No, the mood was not quite right. Aizen was tied to a chair, Yoruichi lived permanently in the shadows, and Urahara had sold his talent and passion for another chance at life. These things suddenly became abundantly clear.

Yoruichi sighed while Urahara looked down in confusion. 

“I guess this is where we stand,” the woman said. “I’m on the next ship to China, Kisuke. My offer’s still there. Just…think it over, alright?” 

With that, she opened the door and disappeared into the stillness of the night.

Once they were alone, Urahara walked silently over to his arsenal of weapons and began arranging them around the storehouse so they could be retrieved quickly. Aizen watched him, unsure for several long moments what to say. 

Did this mean they were on the same side? Aizen thought hard about that. Certainly he still wanted Kisuke dead. Didn’t he…?

“You won’t go to China,” Aizen declared, ignoring his own unresolved state of affairs. “I know you won’t.”

Urahara shrugged, examining the sharpness of one _kodachi._ “I won’t,” he said. “I just said I wouldn’t.”

“Does that mean you’re prepared to die?” Aizen asked.

The older man sighed and straightened up. “Perhaps,” he said, “death has finally caught up with me. No way a man can change that.”

“I can,” Aizen snorted, his heart beating rapidly again.

“Can you?” Urahara looked amused now.

“Yes. Death is merely a passing realm of existence, nothing so consequential.” Aizen grinned wildly. “And perhaps I am already immortal.”

Urahara laughed out loud at that. “Sure, Aizen. You’re immortal, alright?” 

“Maybe you are, too.”

Staring impassively at the younger man, Urahara shook his head in complete disbelief. “I doubt I’m immortal. In fact, I’m probably dead already.” 

The shopkeeper closed his bedroom door tightly that night, without another word to his prisoner.

_______________________________________________________________

It was another whole day before Urahara said anything to Aizen. Once again the bound inspector was forced to sit and bide his time, maddeningly agitated as he was. Urahara was preparing for war and Aizen could only sit there and eye the weapons just out of his reach!

Not to mention, every time Aizen blinked he remembered Kisuke kneeling in front of him, kissing and touching every sensitive part of his body…Aizen found his cock throbbed most of the day—sometimes achingly hard, other times limp but heavy with unresolved blood flow and need. 

Infuriating. Naturally.

Hiyori came in to the storeroom at one point to get a sack of _konpeito._ She tried not to look at Aizen with all her might, but still, in the end her eyes glanced over at the mostly naked man all the same. (Hadn’t he been wearing more clothes the day before?) As soon as Aizen caught her staring, the irritated man growled at her like a wild animal. 

Frightened, Hiyori staunchly refused to return to the storehouse for any reason.

Aizen figured that was for the best. He had had the desired effect. Honestly, he did not want anyone else to see him at the moment—the _yukata_ Urahara threw over him had fallen to the floor long ago, sometime in the night. Now Aizen was only covered by his knickers. Besides that, he honestly felt like he might kill the next person who walked through the door.

Especially if that person was Kisuke.

Aizen decided quickly, as soon as Urahara decided to ignore him for the day, that he would need to kill Urahara after all. No way such an affront to his pride could go unpunished: Leaving Aizen to stew in the dark while Urahara went about the business of defending the honor of the Shinsengumi. It was so shameful that Urahara had lost his own face in the process by failing to recognize the potential of his former comrade and dismissing his personhood so easily. 

Yes, Kisuke needed to die. Aizen kept telling himself this, even as he tried to forget the way Kisuke’s lips felt against his own…the way those powerful hands had caressed him with so much care…

No matter. Regardless of how insistent his penis seemed to be, Aizen would control all these unruly desires and proceed with the mission as planned. He would. Yes.

That night, Urahara skipped dinner and went straight to organizing his various poisons. Aizen could only act surprised by the sheer variety of bottles and liquids the man seemed to possess—each one surely capable of inflicting hellish effects. The only sound between the two men was the occasional clink of a glass bottles against one another.

Aizen would not break this time, he told himself. He would do what he had intended from the beginning of his capture—the only way to get to Kisuke was to exploit his weakness for pleasure. 

“Are you just going to leave me here like this?” Aizen asked suddenly, tension imploding around him and Urahara.

The shopkeeper continued his arranging. “Aren’t you more comfortable like that? Better than wearing a dirty uniform, I bet.” 

“What about my bath?” Aizen continued. “Didn’t you say you would allow me that much?”

Urahara sucked in breath through his teeth, pretending to consider it. “Did I?”

Aizen swallowed the roar of frustration that threatened to spill out of him. True, Urahara had not actually promised anything. It seemed the man had reason to rescind the offer.

Forcing himself to calm, Aizen looked over at his captor. “Do you really think I am still a threat to you?”

“Yes.”

…Well, he had answered rather quickly. Aizen continued on anyway. “Are you so sure?”

Urahara paused for a minute. “…Yes.” He went back to arranging. 

“So.” Aizen’s forehead throbbed with irritation. “You’re just going to leave me bound while you go out and fight these foreign mercenaries?”

“Who said anything about a fight?” Urahara started packing up his case of poisons. “Most likely, I’m going to throw everything I have at them and then they’re going to shoot me into the ground with their arsenal from hell.” 

“Then who will come for me, bound as I am, after you are dead?”

Urahara set his case aside and started sharpening some of his _wakizashi._ “Hiyori knows you’re here. She’ll let you go if I don’t come back. Lucky you, the girl’s a nice person. She’ll still free you in spite of those little scare tactics you tried on her before.”

Aizen sighed. “But Kisuke…think of my own feelings for a moment. Being trapped here while you go fight for the honor of the Shinsengumi.”

“You have feelings?” Urahara glanced up at his prisoner. “I didn’t know that.”

At that, Aizen quieted down a bit. “…Didn’t you?” he asked softly. 

The shop keeper’s scraping against his sharpening belt stopped for a moment. He closed his eyes and sighed. Goddamn Aizen, he thought, hitting him where it hurt the most. 

Yes, of course he had considered how Aizen would feel to be left behind on this final hurrah. He knew the kid had feelings, as fucked up and unnatural as they were. Aizen would most assuredly go with him into certain death if he asked. That was the kind of guy Aizen was, pride above all else.

But Urahara knew there would be no glory in this battle. He knew he was headed into a bloody, ugly mess of a death. But he would rather die here than live the rest of his life somewhere in the mountains of some distant land. For Urahara, this was about weighing the options and coming up with the best solution. Sometimes that meant going down with the ship. 

Even so, Urahara did not want the same thing to happen to Sosuke. It was not that kid’s decision to make. He had a stable job in the government’s clutches, he could go on and have a good life. Why throw his life away for some nonsense on Urahara’s behalf? 

No. The older man did not want that to be Aizen’s end. In truth, he had too much respect for his former comrade to see it happen. And, perhaps also, he could not stomach the thought of Aizen actually dying after everything they had been through in the war. If he were to see it happen…Urahara feared his own soul might shatter, ruining his last moments on earth.

“Do you remember when we fought, Urahara-senpai?” 

The older man set down his weapons for a moment, reaching instead for his pipe. “Which time?” he asked tiredly.

“The last time. It was also the last time we saw each other, before this.” Aizen watched his captor light his pipe and take a drag.

“Yeah, I remember.” Urahara blew some smoke up to the ceiling. 

“Do you remember why we fought each other that day?”

“Of course,” Urahara answered. “We were in Benton Daiba, the night before we were set to move out into Goryokaku. I kept saying we should surrender, me and Nagai kept saying that. It was the only thing that made sense at the time.”

Aizen snorted. “Hardly.” 

“Obviously,” Urahara continued. “you disagreed. So, you got rankled and eventually you called me out in front of everyone, demanding we fight to decide if we went into battle the next day or not.” 

“And who won that fight, Kisuke?” Aizen remembered every step, every move they took in that fight absolutely perfectly. 

“You did, of course.” Urahara set down his pipe and picked up his infamous fan. He spread it open and traced the characters with his fingers absent-mindedly. “That’s why we went out into that doomed shit show at Goryokaku.” 

“And yet…I think you won, actually.”

Urahara scowled. He fanned the air slowly. “How so?”

“You had me,” Aizen stated, closing his eyes against the shame of actually admitting it. “You had your sword angled perfectly to strike my throat. I saw the strike coming only a second too late to dodge. In less than a second, Kisuke, I accepted the fact that you were going to kill me. But then…”

He remembered the whoosh of air off to the side as Urahara directed his blow in the opposite direction. It looked like a slight misstep to any onlookers, but Aizen knew better.

“…You struck the air instead. You let me live, and let me keep my pride in front of the group, even if it meant sending us all to certain defeat.” 

Aizen looked searchingly over at the former _kumicho._ “Why, Kisuke? Why did you do that?”

Urahara fanned the air in silence for several moments. Finally, he said, “You think too much of me, Aizen. I just mis-swung, that’s all. A simple mistake.” 

“Impossible.” Aizen shook his head. “Even a novice swordsman would have landed that blow with the way you set it up. Tell me the truth, Urahara-senpai. Why did you let me live?”

This question burned Aizen. It was what kept him awake at night all these years, made him go out in search of Urahara after tracking him down relentlessly. He needed to know the answer to this. If nothing else.

Urahara sat up and smiled at his captive. “You always were the type of guy to hold a grudge. Did I ever tell you that?”

“Yes.” 

“Well, it seems you won’t let this go. But you’ll just have to trust me that I have my reasons, alright?”

“What are they?” Aizen’s eyes seemed wild with intent. 

The older man sighed and scratched his head. Slowly, second by second, he let the moment pass. He had no intention of telling Aizen the truth. If he admitted that the idea of Aizen dying had always turned his stomach in the most unpleasant way, even back in the Shinsengumi…well then, he would have to admit why he was leaving the other man behind now.

No need. Sometimes questions were better than answers.

Urahara rose to his feet silently and walked into his washroom. He began running a bath. After several more minutes, when the water had risen to an acceptable level, he stuck his head out to look at Aizen. The younger man looked contemplative but completely despondent. 

The former _kumicho_ smirked as he saw that look. Well, if Aizen was going to pout then he could at least give him some of what he wanted…

Why not, after all? Urahara figured he himself deserved whatever would come next, if he was going to throw his life away soon regardless. And he was.

“Didn’t you say something about a bath?”

On cue, Aizen’s curious eyes slid over to Urahara. The bound man seemed to perk up right away. The older man chuckled. This was going to be well worth it. 

Urahara walked over to Aizen’s chair. Like last time, both men felt an intense rush of energy at the close proximity. Urahara was ready to admit now that he loved this little game of theirs. If it even was a game. 

Aizen looked up at his captor from where he sat. He pretended that his heart had not started racing, that his pulse had not quickened. Urahara looked down at him with a smile that was nothing but predatory. It took the younger man’s breath away. He had many things he wanted to say then, much he planned to say as part of his act, but…none of them came to mind once he saw that look.

Still smiling, Urahara bent down in front of Aizen. Using every ounce of control he had, Aizen managed to remain completely still. And yet it seemed Urahara did not even notice or care one way or the other. Instead, he went right to work on unbinding Aizen’s feet. 

This was their usual routine, part of the process when Urahara would unbind Aizen long enough to take him to the latrine. As Aizen’s feet were freed, he waited for the moment when Urahara would re-wrap the rope around his ankles, tying them together to restrict his movement.

But that moment never came. Urahara moved straight up to Aizen’s wrists and began untying him from the arms of the chair. Aizen shifted his feet several times, unused to the feeling of having total accessibility again. He thought about kicking Urahara, pushing out with all his might—

Urahara looked up at him as Aizen’s wrists were free. He smiled, looking almost happy (of all things!). Then, he calmly began retying Aizen’s wrists together, making sure not to give him complete freedom, after all. 

Aizen’s feet twitched as he considered his options. He could still fight with just his feet, that was for sure. But…would he even get very far from the store with his wrists so tightly bound? In nothing but his knickers? 

…No, Aizen reasoned. Better to wait until Urahara freed him completely. After that he could just walk out of here like a free man, leaving his former captain’s corpse behind. 

The younger man smiled back at Kisuke. Yes. This was the better option.

“Come on.” Urahara held onto Aizen’s hands and helped lift the younger man to his feet. “You can walk on your own now. Better enjoy it!” 

Then, Urahara actually turned his back to Aizen and went into the washroom. Aizen’s jaw literally dropped for a moment as he considered Kisuke’s sudden carelessness—to turn his back on a sworn enemy, when there were weapons laying all around the place. Aizen’s eyes skirted over every single blade in the room, deciding how much time it would take to pick one up and run it through Kisuke’s back—

“Aren’t you coming? The water feels fine.”

Against his own will, Aizen’s gaze was drawn inexplicably to the sound of Urahara’s voice in the washroom. His feet moved, yet another betrayal, towards the room. He felt shaky, unsteady on two legs after over a week of being bound. 

Well, better to wait until he got all the movement in his limbs back, then.

When he got to the washroom, Kisuke was sitting on the stool dumping water over his body. His already naked body. Aizen blinked rapidly as he realized his former captain had undressed so quickly already. Then, his eyes took their time absorbing all of Kisuke’s natural beauty, remembering the sight with relish.

“Already?” Aizen asked, moving close enough to Kisuke to get splashed with soap as the man began to lather himself. 

Urahara gave him a half grin. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m ready. You’re not though.”

Dumping another pail of water over his head, Urahara stood up and rapidly closed the distance between him and Aizen. Staring the bound man right in the face, Urahara hooked his fingers into the waistband of Aizen’s drawers. He pulled them down without ceremony. On instinct, Aizen stepped out of them—suddenly feeling a piece of his soul spark into life.

Now they were both naked, standing in the middle of the washroom. 

Urahara let his eyes run slowly down Aizen’s bare, unearthly form. The younger man was svelte to the point of ridiculousness, all curving angles and hard muscle. The only bones visible on his long body were his two hip bones. They jutted out nicely against the inward slope of his groin…which of course led to a very substantial cock. Aizen was soft at the moment, but he twitched under Urahara’s gaze and began to fill out right before the older man’s very eyes. He could not believe it! He was actually watching Aizen get hard. No more walls left between them.

“My what a show, Sosuke,” Urahara whispered, loud enough that his companion could hear him.

Aizen nodded towards Urahara’s own groin. “Likewise,” he said.

Taking the time to look down at himself, Urahara realized he had also gotten hard. Almost completely, right away. He guessed Aizen had been watching the same thing from his vantage point.

Chuckling, Urahara held Aizen’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. Saying nothing else, he pulled the younger man in for a kiss. 

They kissed for quite some time. They twisted their heads from side to side, angling their mouths in all different ways experimentally. It was only natural that they tongued each other roughly in the process. Eventually, Urahara grabbed Aizen’s hips to hold him steady. Then he took his time kissing the younger man thoroughly, showing him how he liked to appreciate his lovers.

Aizen squirmed under the intensity of that kiss. The longer Urahara held him in place, immobilizing him with that terrible, amazing mouth…the less Aizen thought he could stand it. His burning need from the past few days was back with a vengeance, being this close to the man he had been desiring. He moaned into the kiss without realizing and Urahara slotted their bodies against each other.

For that moment, wrapped in Urahara’s embrace, pressed skin to skin with this man—Aizen forgot everything and tried to hook his bound arms around Urahara’s neck to keep him in place. 

But Urahara managed to dodge at the last second. He bent down and grabbed another pailful of water, throwing it on Aizen’s unprepared form.

The water had gone slightly cold and the younger man gasped loudly in response as the water hit him. His senses overloaded, feeling water for the first time in many days, cold water at that, mixed with the arousal…

Urahara laughed. “Come on, Aizen, sit down already and let me wash you. You really are filthy.”

Dripping wet, covered in goosebumps, Aizen sighed and sat down on the stool in front of his captor. “Who is to blame for that, now?”

“Hard to say,” Urahara replied, picking up the sponge from the floor. He rinsed it and covered it in a fresh layer of soap. Carefully, he began lathering Aizen’s body. 

Quietly, almost imperceptibly, Aizen sighed into the touch. It felt good, on a human level, to be washed clean again after so long. Not to mention, Urahara’s precise gentle touch sent all his nerves into reverberating pleasure. Each part of his skin shivered and surrendered happily to Urahara. He actually found himself grunting in disappointment when the older man finished and dumped another pailful of (thankfully warmer) water onto his head.

“Get into the tub,” Urahara offered, already sloshing into the water himself. “Let’s soak like human beings for a moment.”

Aizen stood up, looking over curiously at Urahara who was sitting and enjoying a nice soak. The tub, Aizen realized, was hardly big enough for two. But they could manage it. So the dripping, bound man walked into the tub, sitting down next to Urahara under the water. 

This time, they both sighed. Aizen had forgotten how pleasant it was to soak like this—even in a meager bath such as this one. It seemed he could not remember the last time he had done this. Certainly not with another person next to him, certainly not with an enemy. He could feel Urahara’s bare legs touching his own. As their skin slid against each other in the water, Aizen felt himself begin to lose track of anything else that mattered.

He supposed…he could always kill Kisuke after all this. After seeing what Kisuke wanted from him this time. 

Urahara picked up a fan from the ledge and began fanning himself slowly. He sighed and stared up at the ceiling. 

“Simple pleasures,” he said. “That’s all that really matters in life, Sosuke. Best remember that.” 

Aizen nodded absent-mindedly. He let his bound hands sink under the water, drenching the rope in the process.

The two former Shinsengumi members soaked for a long time. Neither of them felt particularly committed to ending the moment. They felt caught in some kind of memory that had never actually happened—as if the reality between them now was something they both wished had happened sometime in the past. Such lofty, pleasurable things could not exist in this era, after all.

“Sosuke,” Urahara said quietly, turning to face the man he was with. “What will you do with your life after you escape here? What are you planning on doing next?”

Aizen stared into the clear water. He could see his own reflection on the surface and the sight briefly surprised him. He had not, after all, seen himself this past week. And it had been even longer since he saw himself without his glasses on—without the guise of Fujita Goro. His real face looked strange. The memory of it was something he had held onto his heart more than his mind. But now he thought he looked different than he remembered. Tired, wild. Older, maybe. Was getting old a thing that could happen to him?

“I…don’t know,” Aizen admitted, in answer to Urahara’s question. 

“Really?” Urahara seemed mildly surprised. “Never thought that far ahead, huh?”

“I suppose not.” Aizen sighed and rested his head against the tile wall. 

Urahara sidled up closer to his companion, placing his hand on Aizen’s tight stomach underneath the water. Aizen looked back at him with a look of interest and a strange kind of acceptance. 

That look confused him, but all Urahara could do was smile back. “Let’s just live in the moment then, shall we?” 

Still smiling, Urahara leaned in and kissed Aizen again. They shifted in the water so that they were facing each other. Urahara brought their lips together over and over, lavishing his kouhai care and attention. Aizen felt his mind slipping away…especially one he felt Urahara’s hands moving under the water. With one hand, Urahara felt up the inside of this thighs, spreading his legs wide as a matter of course. With the other, Urahara trailed down Aizen’s stomach slowly, caressing him until he got to his freed cock. He wrapped his fist around the turgid member and began stroking it rhythmically. 

“Anh…” Aizen made a strangled noise as he withstood all the touching. 

He wanted to reach out and stroke Kisuke’s ample cock as well, but the angle was all wrong what with his bound hands. So, he stretched out his fingers (the only he could do) and ran them down Urahara’s torso in appreciation.

The former _kumicho_ let out a breathy moan as he felt Aizen touching him of his own free will. Aizen’s fingers were long and soft, compounded with the heavenly feel of the bath water. This was…a wonderful way to spend possibly his last night on earth. 

Deciding to amp up the tension, Urahara squeezed hard on Aizen’s cock. The younger man grunted as his body jerked in response. 

“Let’s get dried off,” the older man whispered as he kissed the side of Aizen’s face. “We can’t stay in the bath all night.” 

So, Urahara held onto Aizen’s tied wrists and pulled them out of the bath. Aizen followed on quick feet, heart pounding and dick throbbing as he considered where they might go next. Urahara toweled them both dry with a quickness that spoke volumes about his intentions.

Throwing the towel on the floor, Urahara figured they were more than dry enough. He led Aizen, both of them still naked, through the storehouse and into his bedroom.

Aizen’s eyes swept around the small, cramped room—only big enough for one (clearly unwashed) futon. He had seen glimpses of this room from his chair countless times. If it could even be called a room, more like walk-in closet with some blankets on the floor. And yet, standing there naked now with Urahara next to him, straightening out the futon so that it laid flat…Aizen breathed deeply as he thought about what would happen here. 

Perhaps they would pleasure each other, bound wrists and free hands alike. Maybe Urahara would want…more. Aizen blinked. In truth, he had never submitted to another man like that before—he had never submitted to anyone. In all of Aizen’s (somewhat nondescript) experience with sex, he took the role of the dominant rather naturally. He never thought about doing anything else.

But, Aizen thought about that predatory look on Urahara’s face from before. Was this the face of a man who would want him to top? Did Urahara enjoy being on the bottom, like the pervert he made out to be…? Somehow, Aizen doubted it. 

Here was another kink in his plans, Aizen realized. He had no way of knowing how their actual sex would play out. They were certainly going to have sex here, that much was obvious, and it was even part of the plan. But what would Urahara desire…?

“Just going to stand there, then?” 

Urahara looked up at Aizen teasingly. The younger man seemed unsure. The idea made Urahara’s head spin. What, the kid was going to get cold feet now, when they were about to seal the deal? 

Nope. Not going to happen. The older man grabbed onto the knot of ropes on Aizen’s hands and pulled him down onto the futon. Aizen fell gracefully into a sitting position. Once there, Urahara wasted no time bombarding Aizen with kisses again, all over his face—the young man’s perfect mouth, his neck, his artfully placed collarbones, the hollow of his throat…

Letting Urahara do as he pleased, Aizen’s body relaxed into his surroundings. He took in the smell, subsumed by it as he was on the worn futon. Ah, yes. This smell was Kisuke. His natural scent. Aizen felt like he vaguely remembered it, even though that must have been impossible. Kisuke had a sharp, musky scent, like miso mixed with the first warm breeze in springtime. It was a strong, unmistakable smell and it went right to Aizen’s head and groin. 

Something in him lit like a fire. This was Kisuke, in his natural state, all his powerful attention focused on Aizen. Yes, he wanted this man completely fixated on him; the thought stroked the younger man’s ego and made him feel a kind of power of his own. 

Urahara bit down on Aizen’s bare shoulder. The bound man cried out, wrapping his elbows around the beck of his captor’s neck. Urahara used the motion to push Aizen to the ground, so that the younger man was now laying on his back with Kisuke hovering over him. 

Covered by Kisuke’s demanding, naked form, Aizen decided that perhaps Urahara was the more skilled of the two of them anyway. In…bedroom matters, at least. It might be to his benefit if he let Kisuke take the lead. When Urahara lowered his own body to lay on top of Aizen’s, the younger man felt his burning erection rubbing against smooth flesh. He cried out, forgetting there were any other options for the moment.

Kisuke explored every inch of Aizen with his hands and mouth. For a man who seemed so torn, Aizen was surprisingly responsive—not putting up the least bit of a fight. When Urahara made his way to Aizen’s burgeoning cock, he figured out why. The younger man seemed painfully hard, his cock almost too thick with unresolved need, turning a deep shade of red. It looked terribly unpleasant, and Urahara felt a pang of guilt as he realized he was the cause, having teased the man for days now.

He stroked up the side of Aizen’s swollen member, clicking his teeth in sympathy. “You’ve been dealing with this monster of an erection for a long time now, haven’t you?”

Aizen looked down, registering only that his dick was agonizingly close to Urahara’s mouth. He said nothing.

Urahara bent down and kissed the leaking tip in front of his face. “My good man, how have you not gone completely insane?” 

Feeling those distinct lips against his member, Aizen hissed and bucked his hips. Kisuke peppered kisses all along the throbbing organ, trying to soothe away some of the pain Aizen must have been feeling there. 

Indeed, the younger man’s body seemed to fall apart as he was finally given some relief. His eyes rolled back in his head and he shivered, wondering how much more he could take.

“I’m going to help you now, Sosuke, alright?” He kissed Aizen’s dick one more time in reverence. “Get on your hands and knees.” 

Aizen knew, of course, somewhere in the back of his mind, what Urahara was asking him to do. But, he could not think of any reason to resist. His whole point of focus had been narrowed down to the unrelenting throbbing of his cock. If Kisuke was promising relief then he had to comply…

So, Aizen turned around and steadied himself on all fours, resting his weight on his elbows and knees. He had never…bared himself to a lover like this. There was a sharp stab of embarrassment as he realized he was presenting himself without a fight…but beneath that embarrassment there was also tingling excitement. Kisuke would take control of him now, as he was wont to do. Aizen wanted to find out what this former _kumicho_ would do to him.

Urahara ran his hands down the graceful curve of Aizen’s back. The man’s flat ass seemed rather delicious from this angle. He cupped the younger man’s cheeks and squeezed, loving how pliant that bit of flesh was in his hands. Unable to help himself, he spread them apart slightly to take a quick look at Aizen’s exposed hole. 

The former captain’s mouth watered at the sight. That little puckered hole was Aizen’s humanity, he realized. It proved the man on his hands and knees had needs and desires—and could be fucked like anyone else.

Urahara licked his lips in anticipation. Oh, he was going to fuck this man.

Reaching into the small chest against the wall (well within arm’s length), he pulled out a vial of his most trusty lube. It was an emulsive he had designed himself, in truth, out of boredom one day. He had never quite gotten the chance to use it on another person…but from his own experience he knew Aizen would quite appreciate it.

He spread some of the liquid on his fingers, not failing to notice how Aizen readjusted his knees on the futon in impatience. He really should be moving faster, Urahara realized, to be fair to the suffering man at his fingertips. But then again…why rush it? They had all the time in the world, after all…

Urahara bent forward, answering the demon-like call that required he do this, and licked Aizen’s hole experimentally. 

Aizen cried out and whipped his head around to face Urahara. Was that…had Kisue just…licked him there? While he watched, Urahara bent forward and did it again. Aizen bit his lip as he tried to keep control of himself. Yes, that was definitely a tongue…in that place…a part of his body he hardly ever thought about for more than perfunctory purposes. But now, Urahara was lapping at him there, wagging his tongue against the small entrance. Aizen felt his opening quiver in response after a moment, sending violent shivers of pleasure across his body. 

“…K…kisuke…” the younger man muttered, uncertain of what to do with the rest of his body. 

“I’m here,” Urahara replied, moving back to press his slick finger against that wonderfully responsive entrance. 

Naturally, Aizen gasped and tightened. Kisuke was spreading some kind of lotion against him, pushing in with his finger…

“Don’t get tense,” the older man warned as he continued to push in slowly. “Just go with it.” 

Marvelous advice, thought Aizen in irritation. But what else could he expect from the other man? Slowly, Urahara pushed into him all the way up to the knuckle. Aizen sucked in some breath, readying himself for what would certainly come next. 

“How does it feel?” the older man asked. “Good?” 

Aizen considered. It felt bizarre, of course, but not painful. Which was surprising considering nothing else had ever been in there. He had no comment on that, though.

“This lubricant I designed is a mild muscle relaxant, so you shouldn’t feel any pain.” 

Well, that explained it. Urahara wasted no time and fit in another finger. He tugged and stretched, rubbing the lubricant all over Aizen’s inner walls. 

Aizen waited for something else to happen. He felt himself being pulled open for this man, almost startled at how easy it was for Urahara to do this. In fact, the more the man worked, the more Aizen began to feel his whole body relaxing into the touch, goading Kisuke further…

In a harsh moment of uncertainty, he wondered when all that had started.

Urahara pulled his fingers out. He got up onto his knees and put his cock into position, ready to breach Aizen at a moment’s notice. But…not yet. Not when his kouhai was still so quiet, so uncertain.

From that position, Urahara reached around Aizen’s hips and covered the younger man’s straining cock with his hand. He stroked slowly along the burning hot flesh, loving the way Aizen jumped in his hand. Smiling, his own cock twitching in unbridled anticipation as he imagined fucking Aizen, Urahara leaned down to kiss along the back of Aizen’s head. 

“You’re going to enjoy this, Sosuke,” he promised, stroking Aizen harder to make the man thrust his hips forward into the welcome pleasure. “I’ll make sure of that.”

As Urahara pulled on the younger man harder and faster now, Aizen felt himself rapidly approaching orgasm. Was this…how he would come? Could he stop it if he tried? Urahara twisted his fist around Aizen’s shaft, rubbing his thumb along the tip. Aizen’s body convulsed in response. No, he certainly could not stop an orgasm at this point…his body needing release so much, for so long…

Aizen was so close to climax he could taste the inevitable release on his lips, feel it in his tightening balls… He rocked his body back and forth as he prepared for the glorious feel of it—

Then Urahara thrust himself into Aizen’s lubed entrance. He did it slyly, without even stopping his strokes. Yet, the feeling of being connected like lovers, finally—

Everything seemed to still.

Aizen registered all of Urahara’s big dick inside of him, feeling his insides adjust to allow for that girth. Was his body alright with this? Urahara slid forward slightly, creating a curious friction against Aizen’s entrance, pushing farther inside him. It seemed, yes, his body was alright with this.

As for the older man, Urahara knew he would need to go rather slowly so as not to come right away. Aizen’s hole fit him like a glove, a rather warm, silky glove that seemed to welcome him the more he pushed in. It was…the most amazing sensation he could every remember feeling, doubly so because he knew this was Aizen Sosuke’s body he was breaching. And Aizen, for all his posturing and nonsense, just let him.

Smiling, almost rabid with excitement, Kisuke moved his hips to explore the feel of friction from this angle. It was marvelous. He kept going, thrusting in and out of Aizen steadily but slowly. 

Aizen opened his mouth in a silent scream. Urahara was…fucking him now. On his cock, as if Aizen were a woman! How…how could his traitorous body allow this? Urahara was fucking him however he wanted, slowly and carefully, like an experienced lover. Aizen’s body fell forward and backward with each thrust of that cock deep inside of him…dominating him…

Furious and humiliated, Aizen remembered what he needed to do. He would need to kill Kisuke, immediately, no more hesitations! He could not afford to let Urahara live after the man had successfully debased him in this way. Kisuke needed to die—now, if possible.

Aizen cast his gaze around the small room rapidly, looking for some kind of weapon. There had to be at least one knife in here. Aizen could find it, he would turn around and stab Kisuke right through his throat, while the man thought he was getting everything he wanted—

“Ah!” 

Suddenly, Aizen bent forward, his head falling onto his forearms. He had just cried out in…pleasure. Urahara continued pounding into him with ease, but he had adjusted his angle slightly, causing him to brush against something deep inside Aizen that made his whole body alight. 

Urahara smirked, driving into Aizen again at that angle. Had he finally found a way to make Aizen enjoy this?

Aizen withstood the feeling of Urahara’s thick cock rolling into his sweet spot over and over. His vision seemed to go blurry, every thought of murder and revenge dissolving into thin air as his body cried out for more. The longer Urahara fucked him, right there, exploiting some secret of Aizen’s body…the more Aizen felt his intense hatred for Urahara disappearing. That hatred (which was, he would admit, a ruse most of the time, he actually liked and respected Urahara a great deal) turned warm, flipping over in his stomach until Aizen felt another emotion—an entirely unfamiliar one.

Urahara was sweating now as he fucked Aizen with all his might, loving every sound he wrenched out of his kouhai’s mouth. Aizen was still quiet, to be sure, far from a vocal lover, but…that just made each slight whimper, every gasp and small moan, all more the exciting.

Aizen’s whole form shook as his mind stirred back to life, this time working in tandem with the rest of his body. Instead of thinking about how he would kill Kisuke, his mind began working hard and fast to think of all the different ways he could keep Kisuke close to him—at all times—so that Kisuke could provide him with this earth-shattering pleasure. Whenever he desired. 

Yes. Aizen nodded in agreement with himself as he lost control. He would need to keep Kisuke alive for as long as possible if that man was capable of giving him this. Oh yes, Aizen would require this again, he was now certain of that. And only Kisuke could give it to him—

Urahara started stroking Aizen’s cock again, hard and fast. He wanted this man to come now that he was as amenable as Urahara ever dared to dream. 

The older man leaned forward as Aizen surrendered all thought to the building sensation of his orgasm. “You’re going to come now, Sosuke,” Urahara commanded. “Right now.” 

“Yes—”

No sooner than the agreement was out of his mouth, Aizen inhaled deeply and climaxed in one long rush. He grunted as he exhaled with the release, still rather quiet, but feeling his body implode on the inside. He felt like there were pieces of him everywhere, everything he knew about himself shattering with the force of that long-sought, dire climax.

Holding his kouhai while the man shook and covered himself in cum, Urahara let himself release as well, deep inside the other man. He rode out Aizen even as the younger man collapsed onto his stomach, Urahara following him through their connection. 

Several long, panting breaths later, both men began to blink back into reality. 

The first thing Urahara noticed was that he was crushing Aizen against the floor, still buried inside of him. Despite feeling an intense amount of pride that he gotten Aizen to come on his cock, Urahara wanted to make sure Aizen was alright after all that. He pulled out slowly and turned Aizen over onto his back. 

The younger man had a far away look on his face. He kept blinking, seeming lost in thought.

“Sosuke?” Urahara asked. He stroked Aizen’s chest in mild concern, trying to figure out what the other man was thinking. “Are you…alright?”

Aizen blinked, registering again the hard facts of physicality. He was here, in Kisuke’s room, the floor and futon against his back, Kisuke’s semen dripping out of his ass, the older man in question looking down at him with mild concern. Aizen’s head tilted to the side as he wondered what could possibly be concerning his senpai…?

As for Aizen, he felt all his former ambitions drain out of himself at the moment of climax. Instead, everything else came into harsh focus. He knew what he needed to do now. He would remain at Kisuke’s side for as long as possible, assisting him with any matters that arose, helping him to regain whatever honor had been lost in the ruthlessness of the Shinsengumi. 

It was the only thing that could matter any more. After that. He smiled slowly, at peace with his plans.

“Sosuke?!” Urahara began shaking the younger man’s shoulders. He was really worried now, seeing that strange grin…though such things were commonplace for Sosuke, but still… “Are you in there? Come on, say something!”

Aizen blinked again and looked up at his senpai. “What is it, Kisuke?” he asked. “I’m fine.” 

“Are you sure? That looked…really intense.” 

“Yes, I’m fine.” 

Urahara breathed a small sigh of relief. Aizen must be returning to normal if he could relax enough to put on that comfortable face of his. The older man shook his head and began to pull away to get a drink of water—

Aizen stiffened and reached out with his bound hands to stop him. 

Seeing that, Urahara got down on his knees again. He kissed Aizen’s fingers affectionately, hoping to calm whatever anxiety that just was. 

“Want me to stay?” Urahara asked quietly.

Aizen nodded quickly.

The older man smiled. “Are you going to kill me if I do?”

A smirk spread across Aizen’s face. “Yes.” Meaning, of course, no.

Urahara hooked his hands behind Aizen’s knees and spread the younger man wide. “Well then,” he said, feeling his heart soar in happiness. “Looks like I’ll just have to keep fucking you so you won’t get that chance.”

Aizen nodded quickly again. Aloud he said, “If you must.” Meaning, ‘please don’t stop.’ 

And so, Urahara did just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh....yeah. Super long, super smutty. Next part is the last, I hope you are as excited as I am!


	4. Zermürbung

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kisuke does what he thinks is best and Aizen is left to do the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added another chapter to add dramatic tension! Woo! 
> 
> Japanese language notes:  
> natsu no tsuki 夏の月 - summer moon  
> kenpo 拳法 - a style of Japanese martial arts. Basically I’m using kenpo in place of Bakudo and Kido here. Because that makes sense to me.
> 
> German words and phrases (not really spoilers, but skip ahead before reading if you're sensitive to knowing any dialogue beforehand):  
> “Blut wurde vergossen"- “blood has been spilled”  
> “Eine unnötiges Opfer” - “an unnecessary sacrifice”  
> “Du bist ein toter Mann. Also stirb!” - “You’re a dead man. So die!”  
> “Niederlage ist mir nicht bekannt.” - “Defeat is not known to me.”  
> Zermürbung* - attrition, the act of wearing down.  
> **2/2/17 - Shout-out to Aurorabird666 for help with the German!**

**Chapter Four: Zermürbung***

Aizen slept well that night, horizontal for the first time in days. He remembered having vivd dreams, things that should have woken him several times over. But each time his body just shivered and refused to awaken.

Surrendering to the sleep, Aizen felt is if he were rocking back and forth—either on the branch of some gigantic tree swayed by the wind, or riding out the waves on some tiny raft in the middle of the ocean. He was also cold, that much was clear…he longed to roll over in Kisuke’s comfortable futon and steal some warmth…

Groaning slightly, Aizen turned his face against what should have been a warm blanket (or perhaps Kisuke’s reclining figure). Instead, he felt a sheet of cold glass on his cheek—hard and jarring, not something that should have been there…

He opened his eyes blearily, almost falling to one side in disorientation. Falling? Yes, he was definitely sitting upright now, somehow. He blinked and took stock of himself. The last he remembered, he was naked and content in Kisuke’s bed, but now…? He looked down and saw he was wearing a dark green patterned _yukata,_ the same one he had seen hanging on Kisuke’s wall. As reality settled and sensation returned, Aizen felt that he was also wearing _fundoshi_ and _geta._ Things he had certainly not fallen asleep in.

Looking around, Aizen took stock of his surroundings. There was a window next to him, that explained the plate of glass he had slept on. The view outside rolled by as if they world itself were moving…Aizen blinked hard to focus. No, the world was not moving, he was moving. He was on a train. That explained the rocking.

Taking a deep breath, Aizen glanced around what appeared to be a private cabin. He had certainly not booked a train ticket, nor ever been in such a cabin before…He reached over to open the door. 

Only then did it occur to him that he was completely unbound. There were no ropes on his hands or feet, just the faint brown outline of marks framing his wrists and ankles as a wordless testament to what he had been through the past week. 

He moved his hands experimentally. Yes, completely free. But when…? Aizen felt along the inside of his kimono for anything that may have been a clue as to how he got there. He found his wallet, stuffed with a few more bills than he remembered being in there last time he checked. 

There was also a note folded hastily inside his wallet. He opened it slowly and immediately recognized Kisuke’s handwriting. The note read:

_Sosuke-_

_First of all, sorry! I drugged you last night (it was after all the sex, I swear). After you fell asleep, I injected you with a very mild anesthetic that should keep you asleep for about six more hours. If you’re just waking up and finding this, it is twelve o’clock in the afternoon and you’re already more than halfway home. No side effects that I know of, but you should avoid eating any shellfish for the next few days, just to be safe._

_I booked you a one-way ticket back to where you came from. You can go back to being Fujita Goro, the police inspector, without ever feeling any responsibility for what happened with me. I’m going to face Yhwach sooner or later and after that I doubt much will matter._

_Don’t even think about coming after me! I know you want to, but don’t. You have a real chance to live a good life, Sosuke. Don’t waste it! Besides, after I say goodbye to you like this I’m going into hiding and you won’t be able to find me anyway._

_Listen to me now, Sosuke: Live a good life!! That’s all I want you to do. Except, don’t kill too many people, either. Just try to kill the bad ones, alright? Always question your orders too, even if it’s just quietly to yourself._

_Goodbye, my dear kouhai. Being with you last night was amazing, honestly some of the best moments of my life._ (Here, Aizen could see several ink blots where things had been crossed out more than once. He went on to the next thing he could read.) _So, thank you._

_Live well! I have hopes for you, don’t let me down!_

_—Kisuke_

Aizen read and reread the note several times. There was no more information he could discern, nothing hidden between the lines, no secret code with which Aizen could try and find where Urahara had gone. This was it.

He growled low, feeling a burning mesh of panic and disarray. Damn that Kisuke for drugging him (again) and sending him away like this…it was unforgivable…especially when the older man knew Aizen wanted to fight Yhwach just as much as he did! He crinkled the note in his tight grip, thinking he would crumple it in frustration…

But then he stopped. He took a deep breath and tried to think about steps moving forward. His mind stirred back to life, weaving possibilities together for what he should do. Even though, none of those budding plans seemed to hold any water. If Kisuke had gone into hiding again, it would take Aizen weeks (maybe months) to find him, like last time. By then, the man would be…

A knock on the cabin door jarred Aizen out of his thoughts. A woman in a train conductor’s uniform and apron held out a tray of drinks to him. 

“Good to see you’re awake now, sir,” she said. “Your friend said you had quite a bit to drink last night. Please, have some water to replenish yourself.”

Aizen took a cup of water wordlessly. He sipped it while the woman bowed her goodbyes and closed the door behind her. 

For the rest of the trip, Aizen silently tried to create a strategy—something, anything that would help him get back to Kisuke. And if he could not find him, maybe he could find some way to get to Yhwach before Urahara did. 

When he arrived in town, Aizen absent-mindedly strolled through the familiar streets, knowing on instinct how to get to his row house flat from here. Several people gasped when they saw him, commenting endlessly (“Inspector Fujita! I barely recognized you without your glasses and police uniform!” “You look a mess, Inspector Fujita are you quite alright?” “We all heard you’ve been missing for a few days, inspector. Glad to see you again!” “Inspector, what are those marks on your wrists?”)

Aizen ignored them all, unable to focus on anything but his racing brain and nascent plotting. His landlord greeted him with surprise and a tinge of fear, letting him back into his apartment when he explained flatly that he had lost the key. After that, Aizen sat alone in the dark thinking. None of his plans were bearing any fruit and that was frustrating enough on its own.

To say nothing of the tingling… _something_ in his heart that gnawed ceaselessly at him. A bright, sharp pain. At being…discarded by Kisuke. The more he tasted that pain (analyzed it, savored it, tried to make it disappear), the more he thought that perhaps he should just let Kisuke be killed. The man was a nuisance, an unstoppable force that could inflict these kinds of hidden injuries, wounds on the inside…

Closing his eyes in despair, Aizen allowed himself to finally acknowledge the throbbing in his ass. That pain, a soreness that smacked of distant pleasure, was very dangerous. The moment he let himself feel that soreness, a hundred memories of Kisuke fucking him hard came back to the forefront of his mind. He remembered what Kisuke’s face looked like when he was coming, he remembered that distinct, unique pressure of a long cock in his ass, pounding into him and showing his body a true way to feel…pure, crystalline pleasure…

Aizen laid down in the middle of his living room. He wanted to sleep, but now he was hard in his _fundoshi_. Yet, he refused to touch himself thinking about that man. If he masturbated, Aizen knew, he would just want Kisuke all the more…

And oh, how he wanted him again.

The following day, ignoring the lingering tendrils of pain that gripped his body in all kinds of places, Aizen went back to the police station to report for work. His police chief expressed concern that he had not written to inform the station he would be gone longer than expected. 

“My apologies, chief,” Aizen said smoothly. The spare uniform he wore was chafing at him uncomfortably. He did not flash his usual smile, could not spare enough energy to arrange some kind of face for this. So he kept his face completely blank. “I had some very urgent matters that kept me away.”

The chief nodded in understanding. “Well, alright. Just send word next time, ok?” He frowned in concern at the eerie, emotionless expression on Aizen’s face. “Is your sister alright?”

“Mm.” Aizen kept his reply brief, forgetting what lie he had told to excuse his absence.

The chief scratched his head in confusion and worry. “…Alright. But what happened to your glasses, Fujita?”

At that, Aizen shook his head. He just told the truth. “I’ve never worn glasses.”

Mostly everyone around the station gave him a wide berth after they heard about that. Everyone, that was, except Momo. She hovered around the inspector and bombarded him with questions day in and day out. Gradually the noise from her speech blurred into one constant whining sound. He stopped answering her, using more energy to try and blot out the incessant noise. So distracting.

Eventually Aizen lost a fraction of his patience. Feeling his brain throbbing from overuse, he turned to Momo with a low growl in his throat. The look of pure darkness in his normally comforting brown eyes shocked Momo into silence. She backed away from him, tears in her eyes. No one could stop her when she quit the next day.

With Momo gone, Aizen was able to plod through his work with robot-like precision. The work had never been a problem for him. Now people were starting to keep their distance from him, which was a small relief.

Days were short and turned quickly into weeks. And yet…

Aizen spent days where he was only somewhat aware of his surroundings. The police work took so little attention that he could do it while focusing almost completely on how he would move forward. No ideas seemed to be anything particularly promising, but…

One night, Aizen decided to leave. He left his row house flat without making any noise, walking quietly into the warm summer night.

__________________________________________________________

Yhwach sat at the sturdy oak desk they had given him. Everything in Japan was smaller, he noticed, shrunken somehow. It was a miracle he managed to fit his body behind this foreign imitation of a true European office desk.

Sniffing hard, the general field stripped his pistol for the third time that evening. He took it apart piece by piece, lubricating each small clockwork fix like he was bringing something to life. The trip to Japan had been long and he worried constantly about his pistols getting soaked beyond repair in the ship’s cabin. Now he wanted to make sure that would not be a problem.

The candle on his desk burned down to a nub. It was well past midnight. The quiet sounds of the Kyoto city night drifted in through his open window. Yhwach caught sight of the full moon hanging low in the sky. He stared at it, pulling at his thick mustache in thought. 

“ _Natsu no tsuki…_ ” the German murmured to himself, testing the Japanese words on his tongue. “A summer moon.” 

He wondered if this was the same moon that he had seen his whole life, here now on the other side of the world. He reasoned that it must not be the same, could not be. Although, the moon was the same size he remembered.

Yhwach sighed through his nose, slotting the pieces of his pistol back together. He would take care of his business here as soon as possible. According to his predictions, it would take no longer than a month. Once he had secured Japan as an ally for the German government, he would be on his way. 

No reason to linger. He hated the dullness of this place. The constant need for farce in a country teetering between the past and the present. Yhwach was here to kill a bunch of warriors who brandished swords like it was still the middle ages. That entire idea was almost comical.

The general grabbed a handful of bullets that clacked together like pearls in his palm. He fit them into the case of his pistol, reloading his gun with satisfied dignity. At least not all his pistols and gunpowder had been ruined on the trip. This one would do just fine.

______________________________________________________________

Urahara stirred the soup in its pot. The thing had been a pain the ass to lug around, but the huge copper basin was worth it to use to cook a decent meal.

One could only eat so many toadstools and frogs, he reasoned.

Blowing on a ladle of fresh soup, Urahara sipped his dinner with relish, thinking that this surely would be his last meal. Well, no reason to spare the rest of the miso, then! He dumped his last chunk of red miso into the pot, stirring the tasty stuff in with excitement.

He had been living in the forest for about two weeks, maybe more. He left his shop on foot with nothing but a case full of all the weapons he could carry and a sack full of food stuffs. This kind of solitary, primitive existence was rough, the former Shinsengumi realized. He had no idea how Yoruichi tolerated it for so long.

Still, living alone in the wilderness had its benefits, he would admit. Urahara could masturbate whenever he felt like it—no need to worry about being intruded upon. He could walk around in nothing but his _fundoshi_ when the weather got unbearably hot (something he had always wanted to do). He could talk out loud to himself and carry on full conversations without another soul being any the wiser. Finally, a lick of decent conversation, he told himself.

But yeah, no. It was time to end this. 

Urahara emptied the rest of his soup into the ground. He would leave all the rest of his foodstuffs here the follow day, hoping some nearby wildlife might take advantage of what little he had left. Tomorrow he would venture into the outskirts of Kyoto, where he was sure he would confront Yhwach.

The former _kumicho_ had seen the German troops. The foreign uniforms, adorned with polished firearms and pristine white gloves. As Urahara travelled, he had needed to dodge them several times to avoid being captured. Now was the time he could finally approach his pursuers on (he hoped) level ground—he needed to do it in Kyoto itself for his final act to mean anything. 

In Kyoto, there were bound to be reports of the violence that would inevitably be responsible for killing him. If the Japanese people heard about Urahara’s death, then perhaps they would finally be content that this Meiji government was well established enough to stop all the pointless rioting. Urahara knew what was truly to blame for his own death—the way people fought against the newness of the Meiji institution. All the roving bandits and the feeble uprisings… If people could only accept the irrevocable march forward of time…

Maybe his death, published as the final death of the Shinsengumi squad, could accomplish that. It was the only thing worth looking forward to in all this, besides ending his otherwise pointless existence. 

Chewing thoughtfully on a piece of root, Urahara remembered leaving his shop behind. As soon as he drugged, washed, clothed, and deposited Aizen on a train, the older man packed his things for the road. He left no word to Hiyori—safer that way. Because of this, Urahara’s last memories of his old life would always be the night he spent with his former kouhai. 

And what a night it was. 

Urahara had not been lying when he wrote that his time spent fucking Aizen gave him some of the best moments in his life. He sucked the root and thought again how many rounds, collectively, they had actually had that night. Four or five easily, not including the times after Aizen had fully spent himself but continued to climax dryly when Urahara took him again several more times. Who knew there was a limit to how much semen that man could produce? And who knew dry orgasms were so pleasant, judging by the overwhelmed look on Aizen’s face as he withstood them…

To be sure, Urahara would never regret giving into temptation that night. Sure, it was complete debauchery but…so sweet. He would also never regret his decision to send Aizen on the train the next morning either. 

The older man clicked his teeth against the root in his mouth. He hoped Aizen was not too mad about all that. Best case scenario, Aizen had been offended by all of it (including the endless rounds of sex with him on the receiving end) and decided to just move on with his life. Worst case scenario? Well, there was no way Aizen could find him here in the middle of nothing where no one had seen him. But, worst case scenario besides anything immediately troubling…Aizen had been hurt by it.

Assuming, of course, the man was capable of normal human feelings. (Which Urahara knew, by now, Aizen most certainly was. But he tried to tell himself otherwise to ease his conscience.) 

Whatever the younger man felt, though, Urahara knew it was for the best. He could not stand the thought of going to his death if it meant taking Aizen with him. That kouhai, that fucking stubborn, morally-challenged sociopath was going to live, damn it…

Urahara laid down on the warm ground, resting his hands behind his head. He stared up into the night sky, eyes flicking over the myriad of stars and clouds. What would it feel like to be dead? he wondered. Would he still be able to see or would there only be blackness? A million thoughts ran through his mind as he considered the experience of death. 

It was sure to be interesting, at least. Whatever happened.

The following morning, just as the sun rose, Urahara struggled to his feet and made his way to the border of Kyoto’s eastern-most forest. He knew this area because he knew that a lot of bandits entered through here. Most assuredly, this place would be well guarded.

Not disappointed, Urahara met three German soldiers at the edge of the forest. They looked him up and down in surprise, muttering to themselves in their own tongue. Eventually, one held up a hand drawn picture, classifying Urahara’s face.

Grunting, they set their rifles on him. Urahara held up his hands and they walked him to their camp—about half a mile outside Kyoto. Once there, they sat Urahara down in the dry dirt, his hands still high in the air. They waited for about forty-five minutes, running about the camp in a state of hurried precision, until finally Urahara saw him.

Yhwach walked slowly towards him, flanked by a soldier on either side. The general cut an imposing figure in person, so mustached and almost…regal. Urahara titled his head to one side (striped hat long since abandoned). He wondered if Yhwach had been a baron’s son, or perhaps even of royal blood. It would be more than fitting.

The general stared him dead in the eye. He dared come rather close to Urahara, about five feet away. This close, it was hard to forget that they were both two men. Urahara felt a slither of his old fighting spirit unfurling in his core.

“Shinsengumi?” Yhwach grunted the words in a harsh accent—each syllable isolated on its own. 

Urahara nodded, bowing his head with a smile. “Indeed.”

Yhwach nodded in return, closing his eyes for a moment. Then he barked out a long sentence in German of which Urahara understood almost nothing, except his name or what sounded like his name spoken in the same tongue. 

A young man standing alongside Yhwach cleared his throat. He pushed the glasses up on his face and translated for the general. 

“You are Urahara Kisuke, former leader of Shinsengumi squad two. My name is Ishida, I will be translating for his majesty.” 

“His majesty?” Urahara frowned in confusion. “That’s what you call him?”

The soldier named Ishida nodded solemnly. “Yes. He is our general, but also the son of our royal emperor. Therefore we call him as such.”

Urahara blinked once in acknowledgement. Well he had been right. Why did all monarchs have the same air about them? 

Yhwach was speaking again. Ishida translated promptly, “As soldiers enforcing imperial Japanese edict and the intentions of the Meiji government police force, you are sentenced to life in prison. Or death, whichever comes first.”

“Will there be no trial?” Urahara asked, already knowing the answer.

Ishida whispered his translation and Yhwach frowned. Then he laughed once before explaining his intentions. 

“No,” Ishida said. “As agents of peace, we have been granted permission to kill you on sight.” 

“Sounds unfair, but alright. A trial would be have been a farce anyway.” Urahara struggled to his feet. The soldiers around him barked at him in German, waving their firearms threatening. 

Ignoring them, Urahara stood on his own two legs, feeling happy to have Benihime at his side once more. Yhwach, for his part, seemed completely unfazed, although Ishida had taken a step back on instinct. 

“If you’re just going to kill me outright then fine,” Urahara explained. “But if you’re planning on telling me everything I’ve done wrong in my life and then hauling my sorry ass to prison, well then. You can’t expect a man to go willingly.”

With that Urahara reached into his kimono top slowly. Not a second later, he threw a flash bang grenade on the ground and dodged out of the way. For a moment, everything was covered in light and smoke, the near-deafening sound of the chemical reaction inside his fist-sized invention sending everyone into disarray.

Taking advantage of the chaos, Urahara used his honed senses from years of kenpo and kenjutsu training to discern the locations of each extraneous solider. The ones nearest him were the ones who had trained their rifles on him from the start. So, Urahara approached them all from inside the smoke and promptly knocked them all unconscious with a few well-timed kenpo strikes to the gut and to the neck.

He would try not to kill anyone. If he could. 

A solider, apparently recovering from the disorienting grenade, shot several rounds from his rifle in Urahara’s general direction. The older man dodged easily because of how scattered and imprecise the shots were. He was about to strike the mad hard to the solar plexus—when the man fell over from a blow to his spine. 

Dumbfounded, Urahara watched the man fall and looked questioning at who had delivered that decisive blow, apparently to his aid. He was greeted with the sight of Yoruichi Shihoin, dressed in her old, black ninja attire. The woman smiled at him briefly, before grabbing him and pulling him out of the way of another round of blanketing gun fire.

“Yoruichi,” Urahara said, grinning from ear to ear, once they were safely behind a large boulder. “I thought you were in China.” 

“I thought so too,” Yoruichi said. She smiled backed. “But I couldn’t let the last Shinsengumi member die alone out here. By all rights,” she pointed at herself with her thumb. “I’m already dead.”

“That you are,” Urahara replied. While they spoke, Yoruichi threw another two flash bang grenades from behind the boulder, giving them more cover. 

“Well then,” Urahara continued. “Shall we fight to certain death just like old times?”

“Why the hell not!” Yoruichi nodded once in assurance before running out from behind the boulder and striking several more soldiers unconscious. She moved with the same cat-like dexterity Urahara remembered well.

The older man took out a vial of sleeping poison he had developed and poured it over a small cloth. With this, he was able to neutralize a handful of men by holding the cloth to their faces briefly. While he worked, Urahara could not help but think how many soldiers he and Yoruichi had successfully knocked out, what were their odds now?

Still impossible, he reasoned. Undoubtedly.

With the smoke beginning to clear, Urahara had a wider view of the field. He could see an outline of Yoruichi on the far side of the camp, fighting using a _kodachi_ now. She was delivering wounds that were not fatal, but blood was being shed nonetheless.

In a heartbeat, Urahara returned to his days during _bakumatsu._ Now it was ten years ago, he was fighting in the war again, wearing his Shinsengumi garb…it was nighttime, there was tons of smoke. People cried out as they died…Urahara left his face blank in the face of the heartless slaughter…

Blinking, Urahara returned to the present. No, it was no longer the _bakumatsu_ era. They were not fighting for a cause. They were fighting for their own quality of life.

The old warrior scanned the field for Yhwach. Surprisingly, he saw no sign of the general, nor any sign of Ishida. That could not mean anything good.

He fought with kenpo and his own fists for some time, dodging misguided bullets as necessary. After several more minutes, Urahara registered the sound of Ishida’s voice, being spoken with some kind of amplification—probably through a foreign war horn.

“Shihoin Yoruichi, former leader of Shinsengumi squad one,” Ishida called. “You are also sentenced to death upon sight, as someone who has evaded the hand of the law by faking her own death years ago. And for crimes committed during the war.”

“Yeah, yeah!” Yoruichi called back, taking another swing at a solider. “Let’s just get this over with!” The three soldiers around her fell promptly unconscious as a stream of blood sprayed across her chest. 

“ _Blut wurde vergossen!_ ” A man, needing no voice amplification, cried out. Urahara recognized the voice as Yhwach’s. “ _Eine unnötiges Opfer!_ ”

“His majesty recognizes that unnecessary blood has been spilled this day!” Ishida cried. “As a result, we will not hold back from killing you.” 

“Finally,” Urahara said under his breath. The suspense was driving him crazy. 

On cue, a blanket round of gatling gun fire covered the field. The smoothness with which each bullet followed the other was nothing short of soulless—a constant _taptaptaptap_ of death that Urahara needed to lay flat on his stomach to avoid. The bullets whizzed over his head, sending a rush of monstrous current over his hair. 

From the distance, he saw Yoruichi’s body dodging the round of fire with almost inhuman flexibility. However, she was not fast enough to dodge a second attack from behind. She impaled herself inadvertently on the bayonet of one soldier’s rifle.

“No!” Urahara cried as Yoruichi howled in pain, hobbling away on still-quick feet. He crawled on his belly over to his comrade. It took more time than he expected and every second he could feel his heart beating rapidly in his ears. 

Yoruichi leaned her weight against a tree, holding her palm against the rush of blood spilling from her side. She was panting and sweating, looking downright pissed.

“I didn’t even see him!” she moaned angrily. Coming up alongside her, Urahara immediately poured anesthesia on a cloth and wrapped it around her ribs. “I didn’t even fucking see that guy, Kisuke! What am I, getting old or something?” She winced as Kisuke applied the styptic and bandage.

Urahara shook his head and smiled. The wound was not as deep as he feared. But still. “No,” he answered. “You’re getting dead. For real, this time.” 

The two looked at each other. They both knew they had no chance against the gatling gun—a modified howitzer, as they had expected. It was time to die. Better now than later.

Nodding only once, the two rushed out into what would most assuredly be another round of gatling gun fire. Urahara held Benihime’s hilt, leaving her sheathed, and closed his eyes as he waited to be assaulted by bullets—

“Shatter, Kyouka Suigetsu.” 

Instead of bullets, Urahara and Yourichi were met with nothing but the sulfuric air of the field. Smoke settled and they looked up to the small hill where Yhwach had stationed the howitzer. From the left side of the battlefield, they heard and saw a well-known figure rushing over to the gatling gun with his infamous sword raised.

Aizen Sosuke effortlessly beheaded the man behind the gatling gun. They watched his head topple to the ground while Aizen began to dismantle the gatling gun piece by piece, ripping out the string of bullet casings dangling from the side, slashing the brass cartridges to shreds with his trusty katana. With the bullet-firing mechanism effectively destroyed, the gatling gun was useless.

When he was done, Aizen looked confidently back at Yoruichi and Kisuke. For a moment, no one did anything. 

Urahara blinked once—just to make sure the image stayed clear. It did. That was definitely Aizen, here somehow, and he had definitely just taken down a gatling gun—and killed about three men in process, as he was wont to do. None of them were Yhwach or Ishida, as the two were stationed quite a ways away, on another upward sloping hill. 

“Is that…?” Yoruichi began.

“Yeah.” 

Even though Urahara was mad—pissed that Aizen had disobeyed what he said and come all this way—he could not deny that seeing the young man in action and coming to save his life at the end of everything…well, even despite the insufferable anger, his heart leapt in happiness to see Aizen standing there. As smug as ever. Now running calmly in the direction of a group of soldiers who had come to flank him from the sides, Kyouka Suigetsu firmly in his grip.

Urahara and Yoruichi ran towards Aizen as well. They fought another round of soldiers that stood in their way. Eventually, they were able to reach the bottom of the hill where Aizen stood hacking away at men and giving them each a clean death. 

When the coast was clear (save for a large of amount of blood), Aizen ran along the side of the hill to face Yhwach. He had spotted the man and his translator, standing along the sidelines with their guns bared. 

Kisuke saw it happening and threw his hands out feebly to stop it. Aizen did not know about the quick reload capabilities of the German rifles—

“Soskue, stop!” Urahara cried, running as fast as he could in the direction of his kouhai.

But Aizen kept going. “Shatter, Kyou—” Before he could finish his move, Yhwach shot three rounds directly into Aizen’s chest and stomach.

Everything froze as Aizen’s body withstood the assault. His form quivered where it stood for a moment. Urahara was not sure if someone was screaming, it sounded like his own voice but he could not be sure… And there, before his very eyes, Aizen faltered. The young man took one shaky step forward as if to continue his move. Aware of his screaming now, Urahara felt his legs moving with speed he had never known before. If Aizen was shot again, this time he would die for sure—

Urahara reached Aizen miraculously before Yhwach could reload. He grabbed the younger man’s waist and dragged him unceremoniously down the hill. 

Holding Aizen’s bleeding body firmly in his arms, he let Aizen’s feet scrape on the ground as he dragged the man behind a small grove of trees. Once they were safely behind cover, Urahara took stock of his wounded lover. 

Aizen’s face had gone pale. Three bullet wounds gaped up at Urahara from the young man’s torso. Yoruichi was fighting around the trees, taking care of any soldiers that dared approach the two men. There was some time. Shakily, Urahara poured some antiseptic and anesthetic onto more cloths, wiping away the blood and trying to stop the bleeding. He pushed away clothing in the process, breathing heavily, and wishing that Aizen had done as he was told.

Why? Dear god, why had the man refused to listen…?

Aizen coughed, spitting blood onto Urahara’s shoulder. “Ah,” the young man said ruefully. “That move usually works…”

“Not against a round of machine gun fire, you idiot!” Urahara scolded as he wrapped the wounds. He could not tell if these would prove fatal or not…

Aizen chuckled where he lay, even as all the color drained from his face and torso. “You’re right. But at least I took out one of those infernal gatling guns…”

“Yes, Aizen, you won, alright? You’re the best. The only. Is that what you want?” Urahara had never been so quick with his triage before. His heart felt like it was splitting in two as Aizen spilled more blood on his hands.

Aizen laughed again. “No,” he said. He brought a quivering hand against Urahara’s as the man applied more bandages. “I just want to die with you.”

Urahara flicked his eyes over to Aizen’s face. A look of complete, happy sincerity shone on the young man’s deathly pale face. Was this…had Urahara finally seen a moment of complete honesty from Aizen?

Yes. He was sure he had. Those brown eyes…this was their truth. Urahara held one hand against Aizen’s face and continued to bandage him as much as possible. 

“Nope.” Urahara shook his head as he worked. “No. You’re not going to die here. You’re immortal, remember?”

“You…really believe that…?” Aizen asked, his eyes beginning to close.

“Yes, of course I do. That’s what you said, so it must be true. You’re immortal, Sosuke…You’re not going to die, okay? Not here, not now, not ever…not as long as you’re with me…”

But even as the words left Urahara’s mouth, Aizen began to slip away… “Sosuke,” Urahara said, shaking the man’s shoulders as much as he dared. “Sosuke, you need to fight this. You’re not going to die, you hear me?!"

“Kisuke!” Yoruichi stood over her comrades now. She put her hand on Urahara’s shoulder. “I’m going to face him.” 

She left the other words unspoken—the ones meant to remind Urahara that if Aizen had already died, there was nothing more they could do.

Urahara looked up at her confusedly. What was she talking about…? Blinking back a surge of raw emotion, he remembered where they were. Oh yes, Yoruichi meant that she was going to face Yhwach.

“No.” Urahara laid his hands on Aizen’s chest, willing the last of his good energy into his lover’s body and hoping dearly that it would make a difference. The older man rose to his feet. He unsheathed Benihime and a vengeful darkness seemed to descend upon his features. “He’s mine.”

Yoruichi knew this side of her comrade. She had seen it before. This was what Urahara looked like after he had decided to kill. Accepting this as inevitable, realizing all at once that Urahara loved Aizen with everything he had…she nodded in understanding.

“Alright,” she said. “You take Yhwach. I’ll take on that kid Ishida.” 

Agreed, they walked out from behind the tree. Yhwach immediately shot another several rounds in their direction. But, Yoruichi’s speed could easily dodge any bullet, and Kisuke’s heart had finally begun to join the fight. Therefore, the bullets missed their mark by quite a bit.

Ishida glanced at the general. He saw the woman, Shihoin Yoruichi, coming for him. This was counter-productive. He did not want to kill her, after all, not for real… Deciding to take his chances, Ishida ran straight back into the forest—as far away from Yhwach as he could get—drawing Yoruichi into the woods as well. 

Now Yhwach and Urahara were alone on the field. Bodies covered the field, a mix of unconscious and dead. Urahara paid them no mind. He saw only the body of Yhwach standing on the hill, reloading his gun with the practiced precision of lifelong military man. Kisuke raised Benihime into a fighting stance.

At this point, Urahara no longer cared if he lived or died. Most likely Aizen was dead by now—a thought that drove him into insatiable rage and despair. The only thing worth happening now was Yhwach’s defeat. All other impulses left the older man quickly as he stared at the mustached general. Cold black eyes met small focused brown eyes. Urahara aligned the swing of his katana to strike the mockingly high cheekbones on the general’s face. A good start.

Yhwach fired more bullets, training his rifle on Urahara’s every move. The general was, predictably, a good shot—but Urahara had dodged worse. There was no tactical forethought to Yhwach’s gunfire, just a sheer demonstration of power. That was the easiest thing to beat, Urahara knew. 

So, he ran underneath the round of bullets and came up right below Yhwach’s raised rifle. Urahara ran the edge of his katana along the underside of Yhwach’s arm, from forearm to wrist. He could have cut it off, he should have, but then Yhwach might be able to bleed out…

Grunting, the general dropped his rifle as his right arm fell limply to his side. No doubt, Urahara had severed more than a few necessary tendons in there, things the son of the emperor was likely to miss later. Urahara took the opportunity to approach Yhwach head on. He came within an arm’s reach of the man before the general pulled out a German rapier and parried his strike with one hand.

Urahara smiled. “Nice block,” he said, knowing Yhwach probably could not understand him. “Let’s keep going.” 

So, the two men dueled each other. Mostly, Urahara took the offensive, gaining ground on the general for several feet. But Yhwach, despite having lost complete use of his right arm, was deadly with the rapier. He managed to land a slash across Urahara’s chest.

Not surprisingly, the former Shinsengumi could not even feel pain from the blow.

“ _Du bist ein toter Mann,_ ” Yhwach grunted. He flicked the tip of his rapier several times, ridding the steel of any blood.  _"Also stirb!_ ”

Settling into a staunch defensive stance, Urahara readied himself for Yhwach’s attack. When the man came at him, Urahara parried hard then used the momentum to slide against Yhwach’s weak side, his already wounded right. He cut deeply into the general’s wrist and the man was forced to drop his rapier.

Off balance, Yhwach fell onto his back as Urahara continued his turnabout, offensive assault. The former _kumicho_ stood over the general now. He held the sharp edge of Benihime against the other man’s throat.

He should kill him. Run the blade across, let him choke on his own blood and drown…or else just behead him right away as Aizen would have done. And yet…

Their eyes met again. Of all things, Yhwach smiled. “ _Niederlage ist mir nicht bekannt._ ” 

While Urahara watched, Yhwach reached into his side holster and pulled out a small pistol. He aimed it directly at the other man’s forehead. There would be no way to dodge such a point blank shot…

Yhwach pulled the trigger. The pistol clicked futilely. Nothing happened. Yhwach pulled the trigger several more times, each one met with the same useless clicking.

The gunpowder was wet. Slowly, the general stared at his pistol in utter disbelief.

Now his target was completely defenseless. Urahara smiled again and held his blade more firmly against the Yhwach’s throat. This time, the royal-blooded man closed his eyes. He accepted his fate as any warrior did.

Moment of truth, Urahara thought. Time to kill again, for the first time in five years…It would be so easy, and rather justified. This was a man who had come to Japan all the way from Europe for the express purpose of killing him. That had to warrant his death. And beyond that, he was responsible for hurting Aizen…possibly even fatally…

But still.

Urahara had sworn to himself that he would no longer kill again. To end this life, the life of a defenseless man only acting on orders and his own misbegotten sense of superiority…well, that reminded Urahara strongly of someone else he knew. If he killed Yhwach, he would have to then kill Aizen. The two were both equally dangerous alive. That meant…

So, Urahara shook his head. Killing could not be the answer. Too easy, too final. Killing was what had gotten them all here in the first place. That was not what this Meiji Era was for, not what Urahara wanted for his own future—a future he was now set on actually having. 

“Go home,” Urahara said, holding the flat side of Benihime across Yhwach’s cheek. “Don’t come back here unless you want to die.” 

With that, the former _kumicho_ knocked the hilt of his sword against Yhwach’s temple—rendering the man unconscious. Urahara turned away, sheathing Benihime as the darkness from earlier slowly left his features. As he turned, he caught sight of Ishida running out of the forest with Yoruichi at his side.

“It’s alright!” Yoruichi called. “The kid’s okay!”

Urahara followed Ishida’s figure as the boy knelt down next to Yhwach. He glared up at the former Shinsengumi when he saw the wounds, but then nodded once in appreciation when he saw that his general was still alive.

Yoruichi met the two of them and looked askance at her comrade. “There’s something else going on here,” she explained. “Something political back in Germany. Ishida here has no intention of killing us. His real target is Yhwach, but he’s playing some kind of long game.”

Ishida nodded and shouldered Yhwach’s weight across his back. He lifted the older man with difficulty, rising painfully to his feet. “Yes,” he said to Urahara. “I’m the one that gets to kill this man.”

Urahara sighed as he saw the determination in Ishida’s eyes. “If that’s the way you want it,” he said.

Time to leave all the exploring and figuring out how to navigate life and death to the next generation. 

For now, he needed to tend to Aizen. As he ran quickly back over to the grove of trees where Aizen still lay, Urahara could only hope it was not too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter will be here soon! (With any luck, extremely soon.)


	5. Maple Leaves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of a fight to the death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aha! Surprise double update! I figured I might as well post since I've been working ceaselessly on this thing for a while now.
> 
> torii 鳥居 - gate found at the entrance to a Shinto shrine  
> haiden 拝殿 - oratory hall in a Shinto shrine, meant for worship.   
> momiji 紅葉 - Japanese maple trees, known for their beautiful distinctive foliage.

**Chapter Five: Maple Leaves**

Aizen drifted through his unconsciousness. Several times, he thought he was already dead. He saw himself walking towards a black _torii,_ something he knew signified the entrance to hell. This black _torii_ appeared in his mind’s eye more than once. He felt himself come right to the edge, wading through ankle-deep water, only to blink and find himself back in the throes of some other dream.

“Not unheard of…” A woman said somewhere near him. A woman with a deep voice. Did he know her? He felt like he did.

The smell of incense wafted around him. He felt warm, water-soaked bandages on his chest. Every time he felt the need to cough, coppery blood rose up in his throat and he thought he might choke, but each time someone lifted him from behind and he was able to cough up the blood without dying.

Those sturdy hands on his back. Aizen fought the constraints of near death to try and open his eyes and see who aided him…but then he was back to the black _torii_ again. 

He imagined several conversations with Lord Enma of Hell, Yama himself, who appeared to Aizen as an old man with a knee-length beard, bushy white eyebrows, and a gnarly cane capable of turning into a fire-wielding katana. Aizen conversed with Yama on several matters, the matter of his life and the circumstances of his death, the truth in his heart. Yama judged him harshly, but Aizen smiled and nodded back all the same, knowing that Yama’s will was capricious at best (even more capricious than his own, if that were possible). 

Cool hands on his forehead brought him back from underneath the black _torii._ Aizen sighed into the touch. 

“Still with us?”

Aizen tried to nod. 

It seemed to go on like this for quite a while.

Then, one day, Aizen was finally able to open his eyes. As soon as reality (actual reality, for once) greeted him—a pale early morning light and the sound of summer birds chirping accordingly in the near distance—Aizen took in a deep breath, even as his chest ached painfully. He disregarded everything he had just been through as fever dreams.

The real question was, where exactly was he now?

Aizen swept his eyes around the room. He was laying down (on a particularly comfortable futon, he would add). And naked. Except for several tight wrappings around his chest and stomach. There was a dull ache in specific places on his torso and Aizen remembered being shot more than once.

The room he was in now looked like…well he saw an adjacent hallway that looked like it might lead to a _kami_ shrine. That meant he must be in the _haiden_ of some unknown Shinto temple. It had been many years since he had found himself in one of these shrines—excluding, of course, his recent conversations with Yama. But those had been dark and fiery, the stuff of hell. This unknown temple looked like pure bliss compared to that.

Aizen slowly turned his head over to the face the doorway leading outside. A soft summer morning. In the walkway, Aizen could see a certain sandy-haired man washing clothes in a basin. The younger man’s eyes widened at the sight. Kisuke was here…he wanted to call out.

“Unh…” he said feebly, struggling to sit up. Pain wracked his body as he attempted that, forcing him to remain horizontal. As he lay helpless, Aizen stared at the intricately woven planks of the ceiling. 

“Hey!” 

He turned sharply in the direction of the voice. A young boy with red hair and young girl with big droopy eyes looked back at him. The boy was staring at him with surprise while the young girl just looked wary. 

“You awake, mister?” the young boy asked. 

Aizen tilted his head to the side and gave him a half-smile. He did not trust himself to say anything just yet, but he knew the smile itself would speak volumes.

“Urahara-san!!” The boy ran out into the yard to get him. “He’s awake now! Come see!”

Hearing the commotion, as well as the red-haired boy pulling on his kimono to drag him up the stairs, Urahara turned happily to where Aizen lay. Their eyes met for a moment and both men smiled at each other. 

There was a strange feeling, Aizen noted, in his chest. Not where the bullets had lodged. But seeing Urahara alive, smiling down at him…it had something to do with that.

“Well, well,” Kisuke said, walking over and settling into a cross-legged sitting position next to Aizen’s side. “Decided to join us back in the world of the living, did you?”

Aizen nodded once. He tried to find his voice. “I suppose…I have you to thank for that?”

Urahara just stared back at him contentedly. “And Jinta here,” he gestured to the boy. “And Ururu. That girl has taken quite a fancy to you, Aizen.”

The black-haired girl blushed slightly and ducked her head. She started soaking more bandages in a basin of water. Aizen looked down at her curiously. She reminded him of Momo, but sadder somehow. 

Remembering more prudent matters, Aizen sighed and looked back at Kisuke. “And Yhwach?” he asked.

Urahara nodded, pulling out his fan and stirring up a slight breeze in the steadily warming shrine. The mugginess of summer was upon them, it seemed. “Yhwach is on a boat headed back to Europe. Left about three days ago.”

“Three days?” Aizen’s eyes widened. “How long have I been…here?”

Still fanning, Urahara answered, “You’ve been here almost two weeks now. I’ll be honest, Aizen, it looked for the first week like we were going to lose you. Then after that you seemed to pull through. Can’t imagine how it felt to be going through that. You see any hell demons on your trip?”

Urahara was smirking, laughing at him. A surge of unnecessary pride ran through Aizen. “Not hell demons,” he said. “Lord Enma himself.”

“Old man Yama, huh?” Urahara nodded. “I believe it. Well now you’re back, so there must be some reason for it.”

“I cannot imagine what that is,” Aizen replied slyly. 

He and Urahara shared a private smile. They were both remembering what they said to each other on the battlefield. 

_“I want to die with you.”_

_“You’re not going to die. Not here, not now, not ever…not as long as you’re with me.”_

“So,” Urahara said, inching himself closer and putting his hand on Aizen’s forehead. The younger man instantly recognized it as the cool hand responsible for dragging him back from the depths of the black _torii._ “Looks like you are immortal after all.” 

“At least, when I’m with you.” Aizen raised his arm slowly and took hold of Urahara’s hand. He brought it to his lips and laid soft kisses on the underside of Urahara’s fingers.

Jinta scoffed in disgust. “Let’s go, Ururu…” he mumbled.

“Yes, my good children, will you leave us for a moment?” Urahara seconded.

The girl cast a nervous glance at Aizen before standing up and departing through the side door with Jinta. Alone now, Urahara and Aizen shared a long, meaningful look. It seemed both knew what the other desired, what they each had meant to say to each other several times over.

They held a completely silent conversation:

_“I’m sorry for drugging you and sending you away.”_

_“I forgive you. I’m sorry for almost dying while trying to save you.”_

_“There’s nothing to forgive. I’m very glad to see you still alive.”_

With that last part, Urahara bent down and kissed Aizen’s forehead softly. Aizen closed his eyes against the touch, loving the feel of Kisuke’s soft lips against him. He could smell the other man too, now, such a reassuring smell…Aizen inhaled deeply and kissed Urahara’s fingers again and again, sucking lightly on his finger pads.

As soon as he felt Aizen’s tongue lapping against his fingers, Urahara let out a small moan. Seeing Aizen’s face, his beautiful contented expression, alive and well…the older man wanted to fuck him right away. He was already rock hard, more than ready to do it—

“Am I interrupting something?”

Yoruichi had found time to sidle herself into the room—naked from the waist up for some reason. Her breasts hung nonchalantly on her chest while she wrapped another bandage around her middle. (It was nothing Urahara and Aizen had not seen before; the woman was often naked around the other members of the Shinsengumi. She had nothing to hide. For a group of violent men, no one ever called her on it either. Everyone either respected her or was too afraid of her to do anything.)

The half-naked woman sat down on the other side of Aizen. Urahara leaned back, smiling menacingly at his companion.

“Yoruichi!” he said with mock kindness. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable?” 

Aizen sighed in disappointment. But, truthfully, he was glad to see Yoruichi alive as well. 

“Don’t have to ask me twice, Kisuke!” Yoruichi smiled back innocently at her friend, either not noticing or not caring about his death glare. “How the hell are you, Aizen? Back from the dead?”

“Surely you know the feeling,” Aizen replied flatly. 

Yoruichi laughed hard, holding onto her side as she did so. Her breasts quivered boisterously as she laughed. “Of course, Sosuke-chan! Best feeling there is, as far as I’m concerned.”

The woman sighed herself into calmness. “Anyway. Thanks for saving our asses out there, Sosuke-chan. We owe you one, I guess.”

“My pleasure,” Aizen replied smoothly with a nod of his head.

“And, I’ll tell you,” Yourichi continued. “If you want to thank someone, it should be Kisuke here. He stayed by your side for the past two weeks straight, refused to do anything but nurse you back to health.” She sniffed in appreciation. “Hell of a guy, our Kisuke, no?”

Aizen’s eyes slid over to Urahara. The older man was looking down, as if embarrassed for some reason. Aizen felt his skin tingling in understanding and affection. He said, “I believe I was just about to begin the process of thanking him, Shihoin, before you arrived.” 

The dark skinned woman nodded. “I don’t doubt it. Well I won’t keep you.” She pulled out a newspaper from behind her back. (No reason to discuss where she had been keeping it.) “Just wanted to show you this.” 

On the cover of the newspaper was a picture of the prime minister of the Meiji government meeting with Yhwach. To the German general’s side stood Ishida, who appeared to be signing a contract.

“This was released three days ago, as soon as Yhwach left for Germany,” Yoruichi explained. “I read the article. Apparently, Yhwach reached some agreement with our leaders, signing into order the complete removal of any foreign troops from our soil. The edict calling for our deaths has been revoked as well. Looks like that Ishida made good on his promise to me. Good kid, that one.”

“You don’t say?” Urahara said. It was unclear if he was genuinely surprised or if he had seen this coming all along.

“Yeah,” Yoruichi said. “So, looks like I’m going into town today! Who wants red miso soup for dinner?” 

“That’ll be fine, Yoruichi,” Urahara commented. “Just remember to put a shirt on first…”

“Right, right,” Yoruichi replied, ambling to her feet. “In the civilized world people wear clothes, right?”

“Most of the time,” Urahara answered. “Unfortunately.”

“Just something else for me to get used to, I guess!” Yoruichi stretched languidly and began walking towards the shrine entrance.

“Oh, wait, Yoruichi!” Urahara called, suddenly remembering something. “What about your scout? Is she still in Zhili?” 

The woman paused for a moment, thinking. Then she burst into a laugh and scratched the back of her head sheepishly. “Oh yeah!” she said. “You’re right! I should probably send word to her…"

_(Somewhere in the mountains of China, Sui Feng hangs her head and cries.)_

“Well, lots to do! Have fun, guys.” With that, Yoruichi took her leave. 

In truth, Urahara was extremely pleased with the way things had turned out for her. It was good to know she was going to be staying in Japan. Where she belonged, where they both belonged. 

And now, finally, he had some alone time with Aizen.

He looked down, ready to take his kouhai within an inch of his life. But there, to his disappointment, he saw that Aizen had fallen asleep again. It seemed the younger man was still very exhausted from the business of not dying.

Urahara sighed. He supposed it was fair. So, he kissed Aizen’s forehead and went back to his daily chores.

______________________________________________________________

Aizen and Urahara stayed in the shrine for several more weeks. Aizen’s strength returned slowly. For most of it, he needed to rely on Urahara for everything. Luckily, the two men were used to this routine so there was no awkwardness or resentment between them. Instead, with Urahara’s help, Aizen was able to regain his full strength in time.

Although Aizen begged him for it, Urahara staunchly refused to actually fuck Aizen until the young man was completely healed. Aizen swore he would be fine, but Urahara had no intentions of disrupting the healing process by giving Aizen too much of a pounding—nor could he rely on himself to use restraint. So instead, while Aizen coalesced, they used hands and mouths to satisfy each other as necessary. (Neither of them brought up the subject of propriety, pleasuring each other in a shrine, although technically the shrine was long since abandoned. It seemed they were passed that.)

Finally, after Aizen was able to walk comfortable on his own, and after the wounds in his chest had sufficiently closed, Urahara gave in to Aizen’s relentless demands and agreed to fuck him. It was mid afternoon, Jinta and Ururu were in town for the rest of the day. They had the whole shrine to themselves.

Aizen lay naked on his futon, wordlessly pulling the kimono and hakama pants offUrahara. The older man kissed the side of his face as he worked, already very excited by how eager his kouhai clearly was (if his endless begging for it had not been evidence enough—which of course it was, and which of course turned on Urahara like nothing else in his life). 

Moving swiftly now, Aizen untied Urahara’s _fundoshi_ and grabbed the man’s hips, trying to pull Urahara on top of him.

“Rather impatient, aren’t we?” Urahara whispered in a low voice. He settled himself between Aizen’s legs, gently pushing the younger man’s knees apart.

Aizen sighed, shaking with anticipation. His cock throbbed and leaked in excitement. “I…” he began. “I’ve been wanting you for too long now.” 

It was the truth. Aizen thought about Urahara doing this to him almost every moment of the day. He yearned to see if it would be as pleasurable as he remembered—although he had a feeling it would be. That thought made his body shake all over with the need to feel Urahara inside him again.

“I know, I know,” Urahara said softly, rubbing lotion on Aizen’s already throbbing hole. “I’m sorry to make you wait so long.”

He was sorry. At least, a little. Yet, seeing Aizen so open and begging for him was beginning to make him to lose his mind. Urahara reminded himself to be gentle. Aizen was only recently healed, after all. He would need to go slowly, delicately even, regardless of how much Aizen begged…

The older man sucked in a deep breath as he got into position. He sat in _seiza_ , sitting on his knees, and pulled the lower half of Aizen’s body into his lap. From here, Urahara held Aizen’s legs high in the air. He angled the younger man’s backside so that he could slip his cock right in without having to put too much pressure on Aizen’s body. 

“I’m going to fuck you slow, Sosuke,” Urahara confirmed. “And you need to let me know if I’m hurting you. Don't wait, you hear me?”

“You won’t hurt me…” Aizen said breathlessly, shifting impatiently in Urahara’s grasp.

“Just promise me, okay?”

Aizen nodded once, a strange look of sincerity on his face. “Yes, I promise. Now, please, get on with it.” 

Unable to hold back, Urahara pushed his cock deep into Aizen’s ass. Both men hissed at being connected again, Urahara moaning what sounds like a choked sob. Aizen rocked his hips instinctually for friction, but then ran out of energy. His stomach muscles were still so weak.

“Kisuke…” Aizen whispered, frustrated at how Urahara kept still. “Move me…move my legs so I can…”

But he trailed off, unsure how to explain the rest.

Urahara knew what he wanted though. Smiling now, Urahara pushed and pulled Aizen’s legs up and down, grinding the younger man on his cock. Aizen cried out in pleasure, his whole body crumbling under the sheer ecstasy of having Urahara fuck him inside out again. 

“Harder…” Aizen murmured, trying to will his muscles to move.

“Easy, easy…” Urahara grunted between clenched teeth. Was Aizen always this tight? He was tighter even than the older man remembered…

“Come on, Kisuke, please give it to me…”

_Fuck fuck fuck,_ thought Urahara. He wanted to move so badly…would it be alright? This was Aizen at full begging capacity probably. But the older man wanted to play it safe, just in case…

Urahara slid into Aizen a bit deeper as a matter of course (Aizen was opening up more naturally, Urahara’s grip was tightening without his control…)

“Ah!” Aizen cried. “Yes, Kisuke! Right there! Fuck me hard, just like that! Please! I’ll do anything…”

Safe to say, both men had completely lost themselves to this pleasure. Apparently Kisuke had been wrong: This was Aizen at full begging capacity. _Hell with it,_ Urahara thought to himself. _If he breaks, I can just heal him again…_

And so, the former _kumicho_ thrust hard in and out of his kouhai. He heard Aizen crying out in response, but he did not tell him stop, so Urahara reasoned that he must not be in pain. Or at least hopefully not too much pain. He drove hard into the younger man, snapping his hips forward and holding there while he released—unable to do anything else.

When he finished climaxing, he looked down at Aizen. The younger man had not finished, he was still rock hard and staring at his former senpai with wild eyes. Finally able to breathe again (and still hard), Urahara repositioned himself deeper inside the younger man. He knew he was right up against Aizen’s sweet spot when the man’s eyes rolled back in his head and he opened his mouth wide as if to scream.

Focusing hard, Urahara rubbed himself on Aizen’ s prostate. He was experienced with this and he knew how to massage the small organ with his dick. So he did. 

Aizen’s body kept contracting, tensing and releasing as the man took gasping breaths. Urahara wondered if he would finally get to hear Aizen be loud during their love making.

“Are you going to scream?” Urahara murmured, pressing harder against Aizen’s sweet spot. “Come on, let me hear you scream for me. Just this once, if you like…”

Softly encouraging his lover to make noise, Urahara quickened his pace, beginning to thrust harder now. Aizen’s body convulsed more rapidly now, tensing harder with fewer breaks in between.

“Ah…” Aizen moaned. He knew he was falling apart; he could not feel any other sensation in his body except the burning, otherworldly pleasure Urahara was giving him. A shiver of excitement (and…fear) ran through him as he thought he would have to endure more of this torturous pleasure. When would it end?

Aizen heard Urahara’s encouragements. He wanted to respond by saying he no longer knew how to control his body, how to give Urahara what he wanted or not, it was not something he could dictate— In a hot spur of desire, Aizen felt his climax approaching. He could not control that either, even though Urahara had not even laid so much as a finger on his cock…

“Kisuke!!!” Aizen screamed. He came hard with a swift buck of his hips. All the tendons in his neck and torso jumped to life, straining as Aizen’s body heaved through his orgasm.

Urahara came again as well as he watched.

When it was done, the older man took care to pull out gently and began immediately cleaning off Aizen’s cum-stained body. The younger man had a fairway look on his face again, panting and shaking. Urahara bent down and kissed him on the cheek, trying to help him relax. 

Instead, Aizen wrapped his arms around Urahara’s shoulders, holding himself against the other man’s chest. He was still shaking. Urahara had never seen Aizen look afraid, he still probably had not, but this was probably the closest Aizen ever came to such an emotion.

“It’s alright,” Urahara murmured, combing his fingers through his lover’s soft brown hair. “You’re fine, I’ve got you.”

Aizen rubbed his face against Urahara’s shoulder. He immersed himself in the other man’s smell—actually, he thought the two of them smelled somewhat the same at the moment. The thought made him relax considerably. Urahara was here, they were a part of each other now. It would all be…intense, but fine. And Aizen could handle intense.

Stroking his lover’s neck, Urahara asked, “Have you ever come as hard as that before?”

Aizen quickly shook his head no.

Figured as much, Urahara reasoned. He said only, “Good, huh?”

The younger man turned his head to look up questioning at Urahara. The older man seemed smug but legitimately happy he could help his lover experience something like that. Aizen smirked back in response and took a deep breath. He would…keep Kisuke close to him tonight, regardless. If only so that Kisuke could not slip away sometime in the night, like the petty thief he was.

So, Aizen laid down on top of Urahara, effectively pinning the older man underneath him. Secure that Urahara had very limited movement, the former inspector fell promptly to sleep.

Kisuke snorted in mirth. He knew what Aizen was doing, keeping him here like this. An…interesting turn of the tables. He would not be able to move the younger man without waking him.

Sighing, Urahara laid another kiss on Aizen’s face. “Well, it’s a good thing I like it under here. You crazy, evil man.” 

________________________________________________________________

As summer began to reach its peak, Urahara and Aizen left the shrine. They said goodbye to Jinta and Ururu, promising to write or keep in touch (at least, Urahara promised as much. He could not shake the feeling that the two children had some use, would be good for something in the future…)

They began the long journey back to Yokohama. Urahara had already sent word to Hiyori, letting his employee know he would be back soon. The girl had written back hastily, telling Urahara how furious she was at everything he had done to her—leaving out of the blue with no note and all that. But she was ready for him to come back.

On the train rides and long walks, Urahara and Aizen spoke sparsely. They did not need to actually speak much to convey their feelings to one another. Both men much preferred it this way, unused to leaving themselves vulnerable to another person in any real way.

Still, one night as they walked down a quiet forest path that would lead them to Yokohama, Urahara thought he might finally talk about why Aizen had decided to follow him.

“So…you’re still here, then?” he asked.

“Obviously,” Aizen replied calmly, without turning to look at him. 

“And uh…why would that be?” He prodded, fingering the fan in his kimono while they walked. 

Aizen breathed out softly. “I have my reasons,” he answered.

At that, Urahara broke out into a huge grin. Those words said it all, as far as he was concerned. For Aizen to have some vague “reasons” without going into a long trajectory explanation about why, his reasons must be rather personal. Emotional. And Urahara could already feel how attached Aizen had become to him.

“I see,” the older man said lightheartedly. “Still planning on killing me, then?”

“Of course,” Aizen said. Meaning, of course not.

After a moment, the younger man spoke again. “Are you still planning on drugging me sometime and shipping me off on the nearest train?”

“Probably,” Urahara replied. Meaning, probably not.

And so, in their way, they agreed to stay by each other for as long as possible. A comforting thought, for both men who had never had the luxury of trusting another person in such a way.

_____________________________________________________________

Aizen stayed on as an extra helping hand around the candy shop. Hiyori was furious with this at first, but she eventually grew to accept the strange, unsettling presence of the man. He smiled with his whole face but not his heart, Hiyori saw. And yet, Urahara seemed to genuinely trust him. She was sure it had something to do with the fact that they were clearly sleeping together, sharing the old cramped futon in Urahara’s closet-bedroom…but, the less she knew about that the better.

It turned out, Aizen was actually a diligent worker when he put his mind to a task. Of course, Urahara knew this about him, but…he had just never seen Aizen apply that focus to anything but killing. Still, going about the mundane tasks of running the store, washing clothes, and keeping up the warehouse worked well for Aizen. He worked quietly, always seeming to be considering something as he worked. Not even Kisuke knew what that was, but he would leave Aizen to his own thoughts. The man was unable to stop thinking, after all.

As for Kisuke, he had never imagined such a wonderful life would be a thing he could experience after everything. With Aizen, his difficult, amazing lover, so loyally at his side…Urahara felt like there was nothing else that truly mattered. He had already decided to live a normal, comfortable life—and with Aizen, that became a lot easier. 

And if, on occasion, Aizen woke up to find his wrists bound together…well, Urahara would grant himself that pleasure.

“What is this, Kisuke?” Aizen asked, even though he knew the answer.

“Well, I need to make sure you don’t try to kill me. Safety’s sake, and all.” Urahara leered at his lover with a wide, lascivious glare. 

Aizen sighed. “Yes. You and your ropes.”

“You like it,” Urahara teased, rubbing his face against Aizen’s neck.

“And am I supposed to do all my work so bound like this?”

“Of course! My dear Sosuke, you are more talented than you give yourself credit for! I know you can do this.”

And if, on occasion, Urahara invented brand new ways for them to have sex…well then, that was just the icing on the cake. After all, a hogtied Aizen was not something any man (regardless of orientation) would be able to pass up. And Urahara quickly learned what kinds of objects he could insert into his lover’s waiting entrance…a sheathed _kodachi,_ the butt of a military issued rifle Urahara managed to get his hands on one time, and (most frequently) his closed, ubiquitous fan…

Ah, yes. So many opportunities. And Aizen appreciated them all. Rather thoroughly.

After a few months, Aizen began to experiment by trying out other mundane tasks. Such as shopping, fishing, delivering packages locally. He was quite good at this too. Surprisingly, Aizen began to take up residence as (of all things) the most skilled fisherman in town. People would come to him with requests for all kinds of rare or hard-to-catch fish and Aizen would oblige.

The fishing occupied his mind rather well, Aizen felt. There was a distinct kind of science to it—a waiting and catching aspect that had been bred in him since birth. He learned the best ways to entice a fish and then reel it in with the least amount of resistance. All of this came like second nature to him. And people appreciated him for it.

It was some time in the middle of fall that Aizen realized how drastically his life had changed. He was no longer an inspector, he no longer wished for a katana dangling at his side at all hours of the day. All he wished for was a good catch and for Kisuke’s warm body in his bed at night. That would be more than enough.

And, he knew, should anyone come to contest that…well then. He would see to it. There was no anxiety on that front either, really. Together, he and Kisuke could take on almost anything. 

One afternoon, as he brought home (home, indeed this candy shop was his home) a large bowl of tofu from town, Aizen caught something red moving in the corner of his eye. For a moment, he blinked and was back in _bakumatsu_ , a man’s severed arm flying off to the side—

When he turned around, Aizen saw only a crimson maple leaf fluttering in the breeze. There was a nearby _momiji_ tree and Aizen now realized there were dozens of red maple leaves wafting by him in a strange, disheveled curtain. 

Aizen bent down and picked up one of the leaves. It’s natural brownish red color and distinct shape… Hmm. This was beautiful, he realized. 

It really was.

 

 

The end

 

_Historical Note: Saito Hajime and Nagakura Shinpachi each lived long lives. Dedicated men to the last, they survived the breaking and reforming of an age as survivors and old warriors. They both died of natural causes in the same year, 1915._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it! A happy ending. (I seriously thought about killing Aizen for a while...but nah. Couldn't. This to me is sooo much better.) I hope you enjoyed!! Thank you for reading all the way to the end, as always.
> 
> Happy love times, from Saito Hajime and the gang! (Shinsengumi thumbs up.)


End file.
